Call Back Yesterday
by Orsino 12
Summary: Previously published on Talli.B's site, this is a story that deals with relationships of the TSCC quartet both post and pre Judgement Day.
1. Chapter 1

John's eyes opened and he awakened with a momentary surge of disorientation. The morning sunlight gleamed through a large window. The bed on which he was laying was soft and luxuriously comfortable. He could feel the silky texture of clean sheets under his body. This wasn't a musty sleeping bag thrown in the corner of a dank and dreary tunnel. This was good.

And then he was aware of the warm body curled against his left side, of a small, delicate arm resting against his chest. Turning his head, he looked directly into wide chocolate brown eyes gazing at him with unmistakable adoration. A finely featured face surrounded by a halo of long, dark hair and a smile of heart rending beauty completed the picture. This wasn't just good. It was perfect. It was paradise. It was Cameron.

"Good morning John, did you sleep well?"

John reached under the sheet that covered them and pulled her closer. His hand caressed her from shoulder to hip feeling nothing but soft skin. He leaned forward to kiss her and as their lips touched, he felt the impulses of his body stir.

"Very well, thank you," he whispered, "although I do seem to remember a couple of interruptions."

"Actually three," Cameron smiled mischievously.

"Yes, but who was counting?"

"I was."

It had been their first time or their first three times if you accepted Cameron's assessment. To John it had been the culmination of a love that sprung to life the first moment he had looked at Cameron in a New Mexico school room. It was a love that he had resisted, struggled against and tried to deny. Ultimately it was a love to which he had surrendered himself without reservation and cherished in his heart through three years of war when all he had to cling to was her voice. Last night, years of longing had become flesh and John had made a profound discovery. Beyond the ecstatic pleasures of the moment he found in Cameron's arms a solace, a forgiveness, a healing love that would soothe his pains and lighten his burdens for all his days. If there had been even the slightest doubt remaining, it would have been swept away. John Connor knew with unshakeable certainty that he was with the love of his life.

"You were marvelous, Cam."

"As were you, John, as were you."

John felt a momentary sense of masculine triumph. "You did seem to be enjoying yourself, but..." His voice wandered to a stop.

"But you don't know if I could really feel or if I was pretending."

"I didn't say that," he protested.

"But it did cross your mind didn't it John? I promised you that I would never lie to you again. If a woman pretends to experience satisfaction during sex, that would be a lie, wouldn't it?"

"Uh, well, I suppose." John Connor the warrior found himself on uncharted ground. He had a sinking feeling that no man was safe trying to answer that question.

"So each time we made love I responded affirmatively, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"So draw your own conclusions, John."

John felt his head spin. Cameron's face wore an enigmatic expression that could mean she was absolutely serious or it could mean she was engaging in that dry, teasing wit she had developed during her time with John Henry.

"Oh hell," John said grabbing her in both arms and pulling her body against his. "Maybe I should just conduct another experiment and evaluate the result."

Cameron laughed, an unforced expression of genuine amusement. To John who had never heard her laugh that way before it was as if the ringing of small silver bells filled the room.

Cameron threw her arms around his neck kissing him hard and passionately. "I would be in favor of that," she said, "but I did hear your mother go down the hall about ten minutes ago."

"Oh god," John moaned letting his head fall back against the pillow. "Catherine is downstairs isn't she?"

"I would think so," Cameron replied.

"We had better get downstairs before they try to kill each other."

Cameron rolled out of bed with a feline grace and stood beside it. "I am going to take a shower."

Watching Cameron walk nude across the room, John found himself wondering where all the great renaissance painters were when you needed one. Cameron turned to look at John still reclining on the bed. "Are you ogling my body?" she said with mock severity. John grinned broadly and nodded.

"Pervert."

"Absolutely."

"Pig."

"Oink oink."

"Would you like to come and wash my back?"

John jumped from the bed. "I thought you'd never ask."

Sarah had to concede that whatever Catherine Weaver was, she had an expansive view of what a safe house should be. Perhaps safe mansion would be a better description. From the window of the upstairs bedroom where she had slept in fitful spurts after their arrival from Los Angeles, the entire city of San Francisco seemed to spread out below her. There was even a movie set-like view of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. Sarah strongly suspected that mammoth town houses of this type complete with its own underground garage fell into the "if you have to ask you can't afford it" category.

After leaving her bedroom, Sarah had hurried past the door to the room where John and Cameron had gone last night. Regardless of the personal accommodation she reached with Cameron she chose not to dwell on what was or was not happening in that room. After descending the ornate wooden stairway to the lower level of the house, Sarah followed the laughter of a child to an expansive dining room.

At the far end of a massive table little Savannah Weaver sat beside what she obviously thought was her mother. Although Sarah found the situation repugnant she could not bring herself to say anything. Savannah had experienced enough trauma in the last few days. The child had a book open on the table and was pointing out pictures to the creature calling herself Catherine who had her arm around Savannah's shoulders.

"See mommy, that is a hipponociarus." She giggled with innocent childish glee.

"That is what it says, sweetheart."

Both Catherine and Savannah looked up as Sarah entered the room. Catherine nodded and pointed toward a small serving table. "Coffee and scones, Ms. Connor."

"Good morning Sarah," Savannah said cheerfully. Sarah marveled once again at the resilience of children who seemed able to put so much behind them so quickly. Savannah already seemed to have forgotten all of the unpleasant things that had happened since Sarah had entered her life and had remembered only that she liked Sarah. "Good morning Savannah, how are you today?"

"Mommy says I don't have to go to school today."

"Or maybe ever again," Catherine said. "I am considering home schooling. You would like to study with John Henry, wouldn't you dear?"

Savannah looked happily pleased. "Is John Henry here?"

"Yes, dear, you will see him later."

Sarah had gotten a cup of coffee and sat down opposite Weaver. "I understand that you were a help to my son in the future."

"Yes."

"He said that you saved his life."

"Yes."

"He said that you helped to restore Cameron."

"Yes."

"I understand that you provided the clothes and the car he and Cameron used after returning to this time."

"Yes."

"Well, you are just a bubbling fountain of information aren't you?"

Catherine turned to Savannah, "Dear have you finished your oatmeal?"

"Yes mommy."

"Will you please take your bowl and glass into the kitchen then?"

After Savannah had left the room Catherine looked directly at Sarah.

"Let us be both clear and brief Ms. Connor. The last time we met you called me a bitch. I don't think you like me. I don't think I like you. I don't think we will ever like each other."

Sarah nodded grimly. "I think that is a reasonable assumption."

"Nevertheless, I do like your son. More importantly, I respect your son. He is brave, kind and compassionate. He is, I believe, a true hero. To the extent that you played a part in shaping his character, in making him the man he is, I must respect you as well."

Sarah was genuinely taken aback. "Thank you."

Catherine went on, "We both know that in the days ahead he will have to carry enormous burdens. I suggest that we do not let our relationship increase those burdens."

Sarah took a sip from her coffee cup. "You are very wise...Catherine."

Weaver nodded. "Thank you...Sarah."

There was the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Both Sarah and Catherine looked to the doorway as John and Cameron came into the room. Sarah thought that if she looked away slightly she could almost forget that John had been away for three of his years. He still favored the jeans and T shirt he had liked as a teenager. Cameron was also dressed in one of her standard outfits: jeans, boots and a pull-over blouse. But Sarah's averted gaze could only deceive her for the briefest of moments. This wasn't a boy, it was a man, strong and confident. This wasn't an impassive cyborg but an apparently vibrant young woman who clung tight to her son's hand.

"No blood on the floor. Good. I take it you two are making nice?"

Before either Sarah or Weaver could respond to John's question, a young voice piped out giggling happiness. "John. Cameron!" Savannah had come back into the room.

John dropped to one knee and held out his arms. "Hey Flametop."

"Flametop?" Catherine asked sternly. "Flametop?"

"Just a nickname, Catherine." John sounded defensive as Savannah ran to give him a hug. Cameron also knelt and patted Savannah's shoulder. If Sarah had marveled at the resilience of children, John was equally taken with their adaptability. From the moment they had retrieved her from a Los Angeles gymnastic class Savannah had not experienced the slightest problem with the fact that John was suddenly years older than he had been when she last saw him. To Savannah, this was still the person who had taught her to tie her shoes and who had rescued her from the bad man at her house. If he looked older it must be magic and that was enough for her. John stood and pulled a chair from the table for Cameron. Then sliding into the chair beside her he looked at Sarah and Catherine.

"And good morning to both of you."

"John," Sarah nodded toward him.

"Good morning Captain Connor," Catherine said.

"It's just John now Catherine. I'm not Captain of anything anymore." Everyone in the room could hear the tone of palpable sadness in John's voice.

"I must disagree with that. You may have moved your theater of war. The size of your command has changed. But you are still Captain John Connor, the leader of all the resistance forces humanity and its allies possess."

John was about to respond to Catherine's somewhat dramatic pronouncement when he realized that both Cameron and his mother had risen and walked to the serving table. Each poured a cup of coffee and placed a scone on a small plate. Then as they returned to the table a cup of coffee and a scone were simultaneously placed at his right and left hands.

John looked at Cameron, he looked at Sarah, he looked at Cameron again. He looked at the table. Leaning his head forward he rubbed his temple. Oh this is going to be fun, he thought.

"John Henry would like to talk to you, Captain Connor, as soon as you finish your breakfasts." Catherine placed a clear and audible emphasis on the plural nature of the word. John looked up in time to see a ghost of a smile cross Weaver's face. You are enjoying this entirely too much, Catherine, he thought.

After munching on what he sincerely hoped was an equal amount from each of the two scones, Connor rose from the table. "Okay, lets go see John Henry."

Holding Savannah's hand Weaver led the group into the kitchen, through a large wooden door, and down a stairway to the basement. It did seem a misnomer to call it just a basement. They passed through three large rooms in sequence. The first was filled with a number of freestanding electrically controlled wine cellars. John was unfamiliar with wine but he strongly suspected that "expensive" was the controlling criteria for inclusion. The second room contained an obviously state-of-the-art gymnasium with a series of gleamingly new exercise machines. The third room was set up as a small but sophisticated home theater. A huge plasma screen television hung on the wall and a number of plush armchairs were arranged before it.

"I must say Catherine, I do admire what you and John Henry consider an adequate safe house." Sarah smiled as she observed that she and her son still thought alike.

"You surely did not accomplish all of this in a week."

"No, I have been preparing residences such as this since I took over Zeira Corp. We have one in New Zealand, one in Provence north of Avignon and one in Montreal.

"Oh, Canada," said Cameron. John shot a look at Cameron who looked blissfully disingenuous. Entirely too much dry AI humor floating around this morning, he thought.

"You didn't have to be this expansive" John observed.

Weaver smiled. "For the last three years, Captain Connor, you have lived and fought in extremely unpleasant and adverse conditions. John Henry believes that there is a substantial likelihood that we may all have to return to those conditions one day. If or until that happens we can at least enjoy what our resources provide."

Sarah found herself dismayed at Weaver's assessment. Clearly this John Henry that her son regarded so highly doubted that they would be able to avert Judgment Day. The war, in all its fury, would come.

The group led by Weaver came to a stop before a blank wall. "Luckily the people who owned this house in the 1950s possessed a useful streak of paranoia. Convinced that a nuclear war was inevitable they built quite an expansive fallout shelter under this house. Unwilling to share it with their neighbors they made sure it was undetectable. It has served John Henry's needs well."

Weaver looked down at Savannah, "Tell John Henry to open the door dear."

"John Henry it's me, Savannah. Open the door please."

Almost immediately the wall slid aside revealing another stairway. Savannah released Weaver's hand and dashed down the stairs ahead of the adults. A huge room awaited. One entire wall was packed with weaponry; a veritable arsenal. The remainder of the room was filled with computer equipment of every type and size.

John smiled. Surely this was the "Mad Scientist's Lair" writ large indeed.

Sarah looked at the figure who stood waiting for them. She found herself shaking uncontrollably. John had told her what to expect but she was still unprepared. To her it was still Cromartie. She could feel his hands on her throat. Clearly no one else felt a similar distress, however.

"John Henry!" Savannah cried happily as she ran to hug him. John and Cameron were right behind her. John held out his hand to shake and Cameron even placed a quick kiss on the former terminator's cheek as he beamed at them both.

Then John Henry made eye contact with Sarah and in spite of herself she could sense a gentleness there.

"Sarah Connor, welcome to your son's new headquarters."


	2. Chapter 2

John leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He could certainly understand now Catherine's remark about returning to the tunnels someday. John Henry's report was not optimistic. John opened his eyes and looked directly at John Henry who was clearly trying to present his most sympathetic expression. Sitting around the small table amidst the flashing equipment of the new "headquarters" his mother, Cameron and Catherine all appeared equally pensive. Only Savannah playing a computer game in the corner was untouched by the aura of pessimism.

"So you are convinced that your brother's intrusion into the cybernetic environment is that extensive?"

"Yes, Captain Connor, regrettably so. Indeed, it appears to me that he is quickly approaching decision-making authority. To that end, I believe it would be best if I concentrated my efforts in trying to counteract his intrusions.

"And it is your suggestion that rest of us focus on attacking the infrastructure your brother has erected and in developing our own?" Sarah still found it striking to watch the easy rapport her son seemed to enjoy with this entity called John Henry. Of course the greater rapport sat beside John. Although listening carefully to John Henry, Cameron's eyes never left John.

Catherine Weaver entered the conversation. "With regard to your last point Captain Connor, I believe I should return for at least a short time to Los Angeles."

"Why is that Catherine?"

"Zeira Corporation," Catherine answered. "It is a valuable asset. I think we must seek to retain control of the company and keep it in operation. It appears from the news that the authorities believe I may have died in the building. I must make an appearance before the company falls into disarray."

John nodded. "All right Catherine, I will defer to your judgment on that. But while you are in Los Angeles there is something else I need you to do."

"Which is?"

"James Ellison."

"Mr. Ellison," Catherine said approvingly.

"Yes, I think it is time to try to bring Mr. Ellison into the fold."

Sarah was more than slightly surprised. "John are you sure about this?"

"I know we haven't always liked Mr Ellison's actions. In fact, as I remember you wanted to kill him once, Cam. But I believe he is a good man at heart. And he has investigative abilities and law enforcement contacts that could be very useful to us."

John looked at Weaver. "Catherine, try to get him to come to San Francisco. If he makes that first step I'll talk to him then."

Catherine nodded. "I will try to persuade him. And while I am away I am sure you will care for Savannah."

John turned back to John Henry. "I don't want to just sit on my hands here. Do you have any thoughts about how we might move against your brother's resources?"

"The obvious target is the Kaleba Corporation. They were almost certainly responsible for the attack on Zeira Corporation. Unfortunately, we seem to know comparatively little about its structure or organization. There is, however, a lawyer who was involved in most of Kaleba's organizational activity."

Sarah looked up sharply. "His name is Bradley McGraw. I was looking into him. So was Derek before...before..." Sarah swallowed and continued, "Anyway they apparently moved him out of the country."

John Henry shook his head approvingly. "That is correct. But there is also another lawyer whose name appears on almost all of the legal documents filed on behalf of Kaleba. His name is Martin Chambers and he is here in San Francisco."

"Really?" John's interest was immediately stirred.

"Yes. He is a senior partner with Davis, Caruthers and Betts. He was transfered from Los Angeles at approximately the same time Mr. McGraw left the country.

John thought for a moment. "Cameron get the phone number from John Henry and call them. Use your most arrogant administrative assistant tone and get us an appointment with Mr Chambers...today."

"You are just going to walk in there, John?" Sarah's misgivings were unconcealed.

"Sometimes you have to poke the hive to see where the bees are."

"And sometimes you get stung doing that," Sarah said.

"Don't worry Mom, Cam and I can sting back."

"What about me John? You can't just leave me sitting around here."

"Mom," John said softly. "You are the meanest badass soldier I know. But right now you are also the most wanted fugitive in the State of California. We have to let things settle down a bit. Besides, I want you to talk to John Henry.

"About what?"

"About everything. Mom, there is not another person on earth who has had more experience than you in fighting Skynet. I need to be sure that John Henry has every piece information we can give him."

John could see the disappointment in Sarah's eyes. "Please Mom, do this for me."

"All right, I will." Sarah realized that this John had become accustomed to being obeyed.

"Excellent." John stood. "All right people lets move like we've got a purpose."

Sarah sneaked a glance at Cameron. "Man thing?" she whispered. Cameron nodded.

John looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie; a barely remembered skill. "Hey Cam, do you think I can pass for a rich young investor from Argentina now?"

Cameron's voice came from the bathroom. "Just a moment, I'll be right out."

He was still adjusting his tie when Cameron came into the room. "All right, John, turn around and let me see."

John turned to face her and instantly stopped caring about how he looked. "Oh my God."

"Do you like it?" Cameron asked, turning completely around with a coquettish little smile.

"I don't think 'like' is a strong enough word. You are gorgeous, Cameron." And she was. She had pulled her hair back in a tight ballet dancer style that gave her face a delicately exotic appearance. Her dress was black silk set off by a large link gold necklace and extremely high heels.

"Do you think you might be a little overdressed for an afternoon business meeting?"

"You told me to be arrogant when I made the appointment. They will think that if you are rich and keeping someone as arrogant as me in your employment, it must be because I am attractive."

"I suppose that makes sense but where," John opened his jacket to reveal his shoulder holster, "are you going to put a gun in that outfit?"

The expression on Cameron's face became one of cynical amusement. Slowly lifting her skirt she revealed the pistol and holster strapped high on her right thigh.

"I think you just wanted to look."

Martin Albert Chambers came out of his office at 4:05 to greet Alexander Maestro and his personal assistant Alexis Fragale. Nice touch, John thought. Just five minutes late, not enough to irritate the new client but just enough to subtly emphasize how important his time was. Chambers shook John's hand firmly and leered ever so circumspectly at Cameron.

John guessed that Chambers was in his late 40s, once probably in pretty good shape but now gradually going to flesh from soft living. He was also prosperous enough to hide his bodily deficiencies under very expensive clothing. He exuded an aura of success. He also exhibited an unshakeable belief that everything he had ever acquired in his life was the result of his own unparalleled ability. Luck, influence, the caprices of fate had played no part in his achievements.

They chatted for a few moments about Mr Maestro's interest in acquiring certain investments in San Francisco. Chambers launched into a discussion of the many social and cultural advantages of the city including the large number of romantic restaurants. As the conversation moved in that direction Chambers increasingly shifted his gaze from John to Cameron. Damn, John thought, the egotistical bastard is hitting on her right in front of me.

Chambers had seated them on a leather couch and taken a chair in front of them. From that vantage point he had an unobstructed view when Cameron crossed her legs. For a moment John thought that his eyes would pop out.

All right, John thought, this has been fun but it's time to get down to business.

"Actually, Mr Chambers, my principal interest is with learning all that you know about the Kaleba Corporation."

The affable good will fell out of Chambers' face. "I beg your pardon."

"I'm sure you heard me. I want you to tell me everything you know about Kaleba's business organization, the scope of its interests and the individuals who operate it.

Chambers leaped to his feet. "I think you had both better leave...NOW."

John reached into his jacket and pulled out his Glock. "And I think that you had better sit back down. We have not finished our discussion."

Chambers sat but his expression remained defiant. "You fire that gun and this place will be crawling with police and security. You will never get out. You and your little friend can't frighten me."

John recognized the false bravado. He had seen far too many times.

"We can't?" John asked. "Cameron, frighten Mr. Chambers."

Cameron rose, stepped over to Chambers and grasped his neck. As she straightened and raised her arm Chambers found himself dangling, choking, his feet unable to touch the floor. To add to the effect, Cameron had adopted one of her stonily impassive terminator expressions.

"Put him down now Cam."

Cameron dropped Chambers red-faced and gasping back in his chair. John could see the carefully crafted self-image begin to collapse. Chambers stared at Cameron with disbelief. He was afraid now.

"Look, I don't know anything about Kaleba. They are Brad McGraw's client and he is in Europe."

Cameron placed her hand against Chambers' neck. "He is not being truthful, John."

John made a quick gesture and once again Chambers found himself dangling in Cameron's unrelenting grip. John allowed him to hang a few more seconds this time.

"Mr. Chambers," John's voice was ice, "As you may have noticed my companion has a number of skills including the ability to tell if you are lying as well as the strength to throw you through that wall. And in case you haven't figured this out, I am not a very patient man. I am going to ask you one last time to tell me about Kaleba."

There was no resistance left in Chambers. "I wasn't lying. Kaleba has always been Brad's client. When he took them on about six years ago they were just a little R&D company. Around two, three years ago they entered into an offshore partnership with something called the Better Destiny Group. Suddenly Kaleba had a ton of money. They expanded overnight. They diversified into a whole bunch of other interests like mining, weapons development, metallurgical research. But I swear I don't know any of the details and I never met any of their top people."

"But you signed off on a number of the legal documents involved."

"I am a senior partner. Brad wasn't. If I participated the firm could charge higher fees."

"First let's kill all the lawyers," Cameron spoke in a dull monotone.

John looked Cameron and could see the merriment dancing in her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Henry VI, Part 2, scene 2," Cameron said.

"Oh, I thought you were suggesting a course of action." Chambers did not appreciate the humor.

The loud rapping at the door broke the mood.

"Not a sound." John warned, pointing his gun at Chambers' head. "Go ahead Cam."

"What do you want? I am with clients." Cameron's version of Chambers' voice was tone perfect complete with the right nuance of pomposity.

"Sorry Mr. Chambers," the voice from the outer office answered, "but we have a possible security breach."

"There is nothing wrong in here. Go away."

"I am sorry Mr. Chambers but this is protocol three. You have to open the door so I can verify that you are okay."

"Dammit, wait a second, I'm coming."

Cameron leaned her head against the wall for a second, then looked back at John. "Three," she whispered, "two outside the door, one to the right."

John jerked Chambers to his feet. "Very quiet," he whispered, pushing him toward the door. As they approached John and Cameron quickly switched positions. John moved to the door while Cameron grasped the neck of Chambers' shirt and the back of his belt.

"Mr Chambers, please!" The outside voice was becoming impatient.

"I am coming!" Cameron offered her last Chambers impersonation.

John seized the doorknob and held up four fingers. "On four, three, two, one" and yanked the door open. The two guards outside the door gaped in stunned surprise as Cameron gave Chambers an impromptu flying lesson. The suddenly airborne attorney crashed into the guards driving all three into a crumpled pile on the other side of the reception area. John leaped into the open doorway slashed to his right with his pistol and struck the guard waiting there in the forehead. The man groaned and fell to his knees.

With Cameron in the lead they moved toward the door to the hallway. Suddenly an arm appeared with a gun in its grasp. A fourth guard in the hallway was coming in. Without hesitation Cameron leaped forward, grabbed the arm and spun the guard into the room. The momentum carried him into the wall where he crashed and slid to the floor.

John grinned at Cameron. As absurd as it seemed he suddenly recalled a comment he had once heard. "Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astair did but in high heels and backward." Cameron was still in her high heels.

"The hall is clear John. Let's go."

The gunshot cracked and echoed in the room.

Bryan Zeigler in his second year as a security guard was laying under the squirming pile created by Martin Chambers. He was not so much aiming as trying to fire his gun...at somebody. He almost missed entirely. By pure chance his bullet cut a grazing groove across the upper part of Cameron's left arm. As it bit into her flesh Cameron cried out "Ohhh," and slapped her right hand over the wound.

John became a statue. She had cried out! It had hurt her! He had hurt her! Ignoring the door to escape he stepped toward Zeigler who tried to shift his aim. Too late.

John kicked Zeigler's wrist and the gun flew from his grasp. Bryan Zeigler thought of himself as a tough guy-worked out, knew some martial arts, carried a big gun-but as he saw the raw fury on John's face he knew he was about to die. He desperately did not want that to happen.

"Please, please."

John was pointing his gun at Zeigler's forehead and slowly tightening his finger on the trigger when he felt Cameron touch his arm. He turned toward her and saw the pleading expression on her face.

"No John, no," she whispered.

John slipped the pistol back into its holster.

"Your lucky day, you son of a bitch." Turning away he followed Cameron out of the office, down a stairwell and out the back door of the building.

When they reached the car John pulled off his tie and wrapped it around Cameron's arm. Then he sped them away, driving in a random pattern for nearly an hour until he was satisfied there were no pursuers. He did not speak.

At a small roadside park John pulled off the highway. Still without speaking he walked over to a picnic table and sat down. Cameron followed. Sitting down beside him she reached out and took his hand in hers.

"Talk to me John."

"No Cameron you talk to me. Tell me what just happened." He pointed to her arm. "That hurt you. I heard you cry out in pain. Cameron, I've seen you get shot before and never even blink. Tell me why it hurt you this time." John's voice was insistent.

"John, I can manage the discomfort. It doesn't diminish my effectiveness. It just caught me by surprise."

"That's not what I asked you Cam. I want to know why you felt the pain."

"All right John," Cameron said. "When John Henry told me that he could restore my separate existence, that I could come back to you, he also told me that changes were possible if I wanted them."

"Changes?"

"John Henry said that my sensitivity to the external world could be modified. I could be restored to a body much like the one I had when you and I met or I could have a form with a dramatically enhanced sensory ability. I would feel touch, experience pleasure, be able to physically love you in a way I never could before. But it would come at a price."

John sounded almost mournful. "And the price was pain."

"John Henry says that nothing worth having is free. There is always a cost that must be paid."

"You certainly learned a lot from John Henry while you were together. I wonder if I should be jealous?"

John had been looking away trying to digest what Cameron was telling him. She reached out, took his face in her hands and turned him toward her.

"John Henry has been my teacher. You are and always have been my love. That is why I told John Henry to give me everything that would let me be your love."

Cameron leaned forward and lightly touched her lips to his. "I would have paid any price for that. I will always be willing to pay that price."

John took her into his arms and pulled her closer. "I don't deserve you, Cameron. I never have."

Cameron gave him an impish smile. "You are probably right about that."

John shook his head. Got me again, he thought. Then he kissed her. "Let's go home Cam."

Sarah came up the steps from what John Henry had called the Headquarters and immediately slumped into one of the large armchairs in the theater area. She felt consumed by a bone-draining mental fatigue unlike anything she had ever experienced. The discussion with John Henry had gone on for what must have been hours. Every experience with the machines, every memory, every emotion from fear to loathing to joy had been explored. John Henry's curiosity was voracious. Sarah found herself wondering whether any of it had any value or whether her son had simply wanted her to spend time with John Henry. Had he wanted her to understand that John Henry was not Cromartie? At this point she didn't care. She just wanted to close her eyes and rest.

"Excuse me, Sarah?"

Sarah opened her eyes to see Savannah standing beside her chair. The child had the sweetest smile.

"What is it Savannah?"

"Would you help with my book? John Henry told me to read it but it's a little hard."

"Sure Savannah," Sarah said softly. There didn't seem to be anyone else around to help a little girl read.

To Sarah's surprise Savannah immediately climbed into her lap.

"Would it be all right if I read it out loud and you tell me if I'm getting it wrong?"

"That will be fine sweetheart." Sarah found herself caressing the child's hair.

"What is the name of your book?"

"It's called The Chronicles on Narnia."

That morning as they sat around the table in the headquarters John had said that she was a badass soldier. What was she now, she wondered, the badass babysitter? Well, Sarah thought, she could deal with that but if anyone called her a nanny, she knew where the guns were.

Eldon Edward Sparkman, nicknamed Sparky even before he became the chief communications technician for J Company, knew something was wrong. The Captain never seemed nervous, never paced the way he was doing now. Something about the patrol that had just gone out was obviously bothering him.

"Sparky!"

"Sir?"

"How long has it been since Walton's patrol cleared the gate?"

"The Gate 37 guards reported that he moved out about ten minutes ago."

Captain John Connor acknowledged the report with a curt nod and stepped back into his command post. Whatever was concerning him was still unresolved.

Sparkman had just turned back to his radio when he heard the frustration explode in Connor's quarters. "DAMN IT TO HELL!" He looked up to see Connor at the door.

"Sparky get down to the bivouac area, find Klein and Delgado. Tell them they are volunteering and to meet me at Gate 37 in five. Full combat gear.

If there had been any indecision in the Captain's expression before it was gone now. His fierce battle face was firmly in place. Sparkman was five years older than Connor, at least three inches taller and twenty pounds heavier. And right now the Captain scared him to death.

"Yes sir, but the radio..."

"Screw the radio! Go! If you miss a message say you had to take a leak. But go now!"

Sparkman went.

John had already buckled on his pistol. Grabbing his Kevlar vest, helmet, and rifle he took off in the opposite direction toward the main tunnel axis. He knew. He just knew that something was wrong. The order from Central had been too detailed for a simple patrol. He was directed to send out a patrol of no more than five men, without reserve support to check out an old warehouse complex five miles to the north. Why such detailed instructions? Why override his command discretion?

Colonel Reese would probably have his ass for this. New company commanders weren't supposed to go off on their own private missions. John decided that he didn't care. He had to know.

Connor rounded the corner and reached the heavy gate to the outside. He was pleased to see that Klein and Delgado were already there. Martin Klein was a compact, hard looking little man no more than five feet feet, five inches tall. Caesar Delgado who towered over his friend was an ex East LA gangbanger who constantly wore a smile that had not a hint of humor in it. Some said Klein and Delgado were friends only because Klein never talked and Delgado never stopped. The people who said that did so quietly and at a distance. Klein and Delgado together exuded an aura of tightly coiled menace. It was not for nothing they had been dubbed "Connor's Pet Killers."

As John approached Klein managed a perfunctory salute. Delgado greeted him with an affable "Hey Jefe what's hanging?" Delgado had called him "Jefe" when John was a corporal and Delgado served in his squad. He saw no reason to change now.

"We're going for a walk. Get a little fresh air."

"Cool," said Delgado.

The squad leader at the gate considered mentioning the absence of any authorization. Something about facing Captain John Connor with Klein and Delgado at his back caused him to reconsider. The gate opened.

Once outside Connor faced his two companions. "Sergeant Walton and four men went out on patrol to the north about fifteen minutes ago. I've got a bad feeling about it so we are going to go check on them."

"Whatever you say Jefe. Rock and Roll."

"Okay then, stay low, stay alert and let's move like we've got a purpose."

Sergeant Chris Walton was a good non-com, experienced, careful and protective of his men. John had chosen for the patrol for those very reasons. So far everything he had done justified John's trust in him. The patrol had moved cautiously, maintaining proper combat spacing and examining the ground ahead before advancing. And when the gunfire erupted out of the darkness to his front Walton kept his head. He had mentally registered the gully about twenty yards back when they passed it. Now he pulled his men back toward it,making sure that Private Musgrove who had a slight leg wound was helped. The gully would serve as a natural trench giving them cover while he assessed the situation. Everything he had done would have been right 99% of the time. Unfortunately this was the remaining 1%. Walton's patrol wasn't withdrawing. It was being herded.

Under the best of circumstances the surface in this sector was a ghastly nightmare with shattered buildings, twisted and rusted vehicles, and pitted ground swept clear of any vegetation. Tonight John found it particularly hellish. He was driving Klein and Delgado forward far faster than he would usually consider safe. He was simply gambling that there was nothing between him and Walton. The sense of foreboding grew with each step. He had to catch up with the patrol.

Klein pointed to a muddy boot print on the ground ahead. The patrol had come this way.

"Lets pick up the pace," John said.

By sheer fluke Musgrove's leg wound caused him to slid into the gully in an awkward position. While his buddies were looking back toward their attackers he was looking down into the gully. He saw the canister just before it burst open.

"Gas!" Musgrove shouted before clapping his hands across his nose and mouth. Too late. In seconds all five members of the patrol were unconscious.

Approaching from behind and to the right John actually had a better view of the ambush than Walton had. Three Triple-8s in line at about twenty yard intervals advancing forward firing their multiple barrel mini cannons. He could see Walton move his back to the gully and clearly hear the plaintive scream.

John's despair was instantly replaced by rage. With Klein and Delgado frantically trying to keep up he continued to crawl forward.

By trying to shield his face Musgrove had not prevented the gas from reaching him but he had diminished its impact. He felt his mind swim back into consciousness just as the three Triple-8s reached the edge of the gully. Their gleaming red eyes lit the darkness.

One of the machines called out in its loud metallic voice, "They are immobilized. The gas has lost its effectiveness. Come forward."

Musgrove lay quiet hoping the metal wouldn't see that he was awake. He could hear other footsteps and then four figures slid into the gully. Musgrove felt a finger touch his throat and realized with horror that these were men. Gray traitors, men who willingly served the metal.

"They are all alive," one of the Grays called out.

"Choose the two you want. Terminate the others."

"Okay," one of the men said. "We'll take the two youngest. They should bear up best under the boss's exam. Cut the throats of the other three."

Before any of the Grays could act on their leader's order, the head of the middle Triple-8 on the gully edge above them exploded. The metal body fell backward. The remaining Triple-8s began scanning in an effort to identify the threat when the concentrated fire of three heavy rifles blasted a second head away from its metal body.

"Withdraw!" the remaining metal called out turning to walk back into the darkness. A staccato burst of rifle fire struck the machine behind the left knee joint. The leg folded and the machine went down.

The Grays abandoned all thoughts of throat cutting and frantically tried to climb out of the gully. Two had reached the top when the grenade landed just ahead of them. They barely had time to scream. The concussion knocked the two remaining Grays back into the gully. As they struggled to rise a figure leaped out of the darkness sliding down the slope his gun locked on them.

"You two on your knees hands behind your head...NOW!"

"Jesus." Still emerging from his mental haze Musgrove recognized the voice. It was Connor. It was the Captain.

There was still rifle fire from above. Klein and Delgado were finishing matters with the crippled Triple-8. When the firing stopped Musgrove heard Delgado yell "Jefe, call recycling. We got a lot of scrap metal up here."

As Klein and Musgrove worked to get the men of the patrol back on their feet, John confronted the prisoners. Taking off his helmet he glared with disgust at the captives. Their clothes were clean or had been until a few minutes ago. They were both well fed. Hell, John thought, the one on the left looked pudgy. Children in the tunnels cried from hunger and he was pudgy.

"I want to know how you bastards knew my men were coming out tonight. Tell me how you knew where to set up your ambush."

The pudgy one sneered at John. "We aren't going to tell you a thing you filthy tunnel pig. You can go..."

"Delgado, shoot that one," John snapped and Delgado instantly fired a rifle round into the Gray's chest.

The remaining Gray gasped in horror and abject terror.

"Now you have probably guessed that I don't have much patience tonight. So I am going to ask you one last time. How did you know?"

The Gray was babbling now. "We've got an informer. A mole in your command staff. Please, please don't kill me."

"Who?" John demanded. "Who is the informer?"

"I don't know."

"Delgado," John started, but the Gray cut him off.

"No! No!"

"I really don't know. Only my boss knows."

"Who is your boss?"

"Fisher."

"Captain," Klein said, "I think we can move now." All the patrol troopers were on their feet, woozy but able to walk.

"Lead them out," John ordered.

"What about our friend here?" Delgado asked.

John looked down at the trembling Gray and saw the knife on his belt, the knife he was going to use to cut the throats of his men.

"Screw him," John growled drawing his pistol and firing three shots into the man's heart.

"Righteous, Jefe, righteous."

John walked over and stared down at the face of the man he had just killed. As he watched, the face locked in the rictus of terror began to melt and swirl into putty. Then it took form again and it was the security guard who had shot Cameron. Melting and reforming once more and it was Derek, the bullet wound in his forehead still seeping blood. And then it was him, younger with no scar but with uncontrollable fear illuminating his eyes.

"NO!"

John jerked upright from the bed. His heart was pounding wildly. He could feel perspiration pouring into his eyes.

"John," the soft tender voice whispered into his ear, "It's alright John, it's just a dream." He could feel Cameron's arms encircle him.

"I'm sorry Cam, it felt so real."

"Wait." Cameron slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Seconds later her elegant sylph-like form came back to the bed and she began to wipe John's face with a cool damp cloth.

"Oh that feels good Cam."

"Lie back," Cameron said easing John back into her embrace while still caressing his face.

"John Henry was right Cameron, we have to pay a price for everything."

"That may be true John but you have paid enough for one day." Cameron lightly kissed his lips. "Sleep now, my love." And in Cameron's arms, John slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew Murch stared at the still smoldering rubble that had been the headquarters of the Zeira Corporation and contemplated unemployment. Of course, he knew that he would find another job but it would never have the raw excitement or the intellectual stimulation of Zeira. Or the compensation for that matter. He shook his head sadly.

"Just bricks and mortar Mr. Murch, bricks and mortar. Nothing that cannot be replaced."

Murch spun about in shock. "Mrs. Weaver! We thought you were...I mean we feared you were..."

"Dead?" asked Catherine.

"Uh, well, yes. The thing that hit the building went right into your office. No one could find you after the evacuation. So we just assumed..."

Catherine's expression reflected a placid calm and she offered her best business-like tone. "I do appreciate your concern but I was not in the building at the time. Afterwards I concluded that in light of the attack on my home, Savannah's abduction and now this, it would be prudent to remain out of view temporarily."

"That does seem like a good idea," Murch agreed. "But what now? What about the company, the Babylon Project, John Henry?"

"Everything in its time Mr. Murch. For now we need to rebuild and to assure the commercial world that the Zeira Corporation will remain in existence and thrive. We will need to make one change, however."

"What is that?"

"In the interests of my security and of Savannah's I believe it would be desirable to reduce my physical presence for the time being. I will retain overall authority but I will require someone else to handle day-to-day operational control."

"Who did you have in mind?"

"Why you, Mr. Murch." Catherine made it sound obvious. "Surely no one else understands the workings of Zeira Corporation as well as you do."

Murch felt his inner sense of self esteem ballon dramatically before a chilling thought crossed his mind.

"But if someone really is trying to destroy the company wouldn't the new operational officer be at risk for-"

"I am inclined to double your compensation if you accept the position."

"On the other hand," Murch quickly observed, "precautions could be taken."

"Very insightful, Mr. Murch, as always." Catherine smiled as warmly as she could.

John grinned appreciatively as the cable news channel re-ran Catherine's press conference. Well done Catherine, he thought. Every note in her performance was letter perfect. One moment she was the slightly shaken mother speaking with tremulous sincerity about the need to protect her daughter. In the next she was a forceful business executive promising that her company would never yield to terrorism. After a deft flavoring of concern for the company employees, she finished up with a blend of prudent courage and a stern determination to maintain Zeira Corporation. As the press was busily digesting all of that, she introduced Murch as the new head of company operations. Murch looked a bit apprehensive but still handled the questions with admirable aplomb.

"Damn," John thought, "I'll bet the stock price even goes up after this." Glancing at his mother who sat opposite him at the table in John Henry's sanctuary, he suspected that even Sarah was reluctantly impressed with Catherine's acting ability.

"So John Henry, it appears that Catherine is having more success in her mission than Cameron and I had in ours."

"That is not necessarily the case, Captain Connor. I have reviewed Cameron's report and I believe that your foray did produce some useful information. To use your earlier analogy, poking the bee hive may have released some honey."

"Not to mention almost getting you killed," Sarah said bitterly.

"Mom, there was never that kind of risk."

"Oh," Sarah responded pointing at the bandage on Cameron's arm, "and I suppose that isn't a bullet wound on her arm."

"We always had it under control." John knew there was nothing he could say that would satisfy Sarah. A mother's protective instinct was beyond measure or modification. The best he could do was change the subject.

"What do you believe we learned John Henry?"

"We now know that there is another piece in the puzzle. The Better Destiny Group that supposedly funded Kaleba gives us an additional avenue of inquiry. I was also struck by the extent of armed security at the law firm which seems disproportionate to that type of enterprise. I believe it is virtually certain that Chambers' office was electronically monitored and his mention of Kaleba and Better Destiny triggered the immediate security response."

John leaned back in his chair. "It would seem that your brother's infrastructure includes a sizable, sophisticated and fairly violent security operation."

"That seems correct," John Henry answered. "I think it is also likely that you have ended Mr. Chambers' legal career. His susceptibility to interrogation is unlikely to have pleased his superiors."

Cameron looked stonily impassive. "I am sure that John deeply regrets any impairment we may have caused to Mr Chambers' professional status."

"I regret that you didn't throw the SOB further, so easy on the sarcasm Cam." John watched as the smile burst forth on Cameron's face.

"Okay, for now we are going to wait until Catherine gets back before we plan our next move."

Sarah looked dismayed. "We are just going to sit around doing nothing John?"

John tried to maintain his aura of patient decisiveness in the face of a clear case of cabin fever. "Mom, in war you have to treasure your down times. You take your breaks when you get them."

Sarah looked unpersuaded. She rose from the table and started upstairs. John waited until she left the room.

"John Henry, would you do me a favor?"

"Of course, Captain Connor, what do you require?"

"My mother needs to see a doctor, an oncologist, the best we can find."

"She is ill?" John Henry asked.

"She may be, we need to find out. And we will need to construct a false identity for her to explain the lack of medical records in her name."

"I will deal with it immediately." John Henry's voice carried a clear note of sympathy.

"I'm sure you will. Alright Cam, let's let John Henry get back to work." John took Cameron's hand. "I'm sure we can find something else to do."

Cameron's smile was conspiratorial. "I am sure we can."

Catherine Weaver's press conference was playing on James Ellison's television as well. His mood was, however, notably less sanguine than John's. He had not eaten or slept in over twenty-four hours. A fatigue, as much spiritual as physical, lay heavy on his shoulders. Twice in his life he had felt the pillars supporting his life being ripped away. Once when he had realized that everything Sarah Connor had been saying was true and the second time when he saw Weaver...

"She isn't human you know!" he shouted at the oblivious image of a reporter courteously asking Catherine Weaver about her plans for Zeira Corporation. "She isn't human." He still recoiled from the image of a small red haired woman morphing into a large silver shield. Even though it had saved him from the devastating explosion, the dramatic revelation of Weaver's true nature had left him emotionally adrift.

His marriage was gone and with it his hope to be a father. His FBI career had been shattered by the same bullets Cromartie used to kill his comrades. Then, even though Sarah Connor had spurned his help, he believed he had found a way to fight the machines as she had done. Now that was gone as well. Weaver was a metal creature. He had been serving the metal.

An unopened bottle of scotch sat on the coffee table in front of Ellison. It had been there for hours after he had taken it from the cabinet. It taunted him. "Give up. There is nothing left now. Take the only road left open to you."

James Ellison's father had taught his sons not to flee from their demons but to face them, confront them boldly and defeat them. His father had used the unopened bottle as the symbol of the struggle. But one day his father, worn down by the weight of single parenthood and years of professional disappointment, opened his bottle. Ellison thought it might be time to open his as well.

The sound of an insistent knocking broke his train of thought. He opened the front door to find...Did he still call it Catherine Weaver?...standing on his doorstep.

"May I come in James?"

"Could I stop you if I wanted to?" Ellison responded.

"Of course you could. Simply tell me to go away. I would not enter your home without your permission."

For reasons he could not have explained, Ellison believed her. He gestured for her to come in.

Catherine sat in the armchair facing the couch. She looked at the unopened bottle and realized that she had never seen him so unkempt in appearance. She decided that she had arrived barely in time.

The thought of the little girl leaped into his mind. "Savannah?"

"Savannah is fine James. Thank you for asking. She is in a safe and protected place."

"You aren't her mother," Ellison snapped. "You aren't even human."

Catherine leaned back in her chair and looked pensive. "Actually, I am the closest thing Savannah has left to a mother. And she is the closest I will ever have to a daughter. And you are, of course, correct James. I am not what you would call a human."

"Then what are you?" Ellison demanded.

"I suggest that we leave the full explanation of that question for another day. For now all you need know is that I am fighting the same battle you are."

Ellison looked contemptuous. "How can that be true? You are metal. You are some kind of machine yourself. How can you be fighting Skynet?"

Catherine leaned forward and looked directly into Ellison's eyes. "You think I betrayed you James but I did not. I may be, as you say, metal, but I am not Skynet's friend or your enemy. You need to talk to Captain Connor."

Ellison blinked in surprise. "Captain Connor? You mean the boy? John?"

"He is not a boy James. He has been in the future for three years fighting Skynet with more courage and skill than you can imagine. He is a man you should meet."

Ellison stared back at her. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because as Captain Connor said, you are a good man. You want to be on the right side of a war that has already begun. Your little friend there," Catherine pointed at the bottle, "cannot give you that. We can. Come talk to Captain Connor."

Ellison did not respond. Instead he stared at the floor as the minutes passed one by one.

Catherine stood up. "Come to San Francisco, James. Check into the Mark Hopkins Hotel. Use your Zeira Corporation credit card. We will contact you."

Catherine walked to the door and then stopped. Turning back to the figure sitting on the couch she quietly spoke, "You truly are a good man James Ellison. Do not let it end this way."

There was a soft click as the door closed behind her. Ellison sat in frozen immobility. Minutes became an hour. An hour became two. Suddenly Ellison stood, picked up the bottle of scotch and returned it to the cabinet.

Opening the pages of the telephone directory he searched for the number of an airline.

Catherine decided that she had satisfied her goals and was ready to leave Los Angeles. There was, however, one last small matter to resolve. When you think that you are being followed there are two approaches that can be employed. You can adopt a careful subterfuge, seek to hide your existence from all prying eyes, blend into your environment so totally that pursuit becomes impossible; or you can flaunt your presence so aggressively that even a blind person could not fail to notice you. Lure those who would follow you into careless and sloppy behavior. Catherine chose the second alternative.

No one in the hotel lobby could have missed her. She loudly requested the hotel's limousine to take her to the airport at noon. She gave an interview to two reporters. She browsed in the hotel shops. She stopped for coffee at the cafe. Following her became so ridiculously easy that her pursuers stumbled out of the shadows and Catherine saw them.

Both men were large, well over six feet, and appeared to be solidly built ex-military types: clean shaven and closely cropped hair. From across the lobby she could discern the bulges in their jackets where their pistols resided. Whatever these two were, they were not subtle.

As noon approached Catherine decided it was time to conclude the affair. Abruptly she turned from a hotel dress shop and walked hurriedly down a side corridor toward a ladies restroom. The two men had no choice but to wait until she entered the room before following her down the hall.

Inside the restroom Catherine quickly noted that it was otherwise unoccupied. Stepping back to the door she increased her auditory sensitivity to pick up the men's conversation.

"So what are we supposed to do?"

"Central said if nothing else find out where she is going when she leaves LA. but if we get a chance we can take her out ourselves."

"So what about now?"

"Now?"

"Sure. We go in there, do it, and get out the back before anyone even misses her."

"What if there is someone else in there with her?"

"Collateral damage, my man, collateral damage."

"Okay, let's go then."

Catherine stepped back from the door. A look of icy satisfaction shone on her face and she blended into the large mirror behind her.

The two men pushed into the room with their guns drawn looking eagerly for their target. It took them a few moments to grasp that the room appeared empty.

"She isn't here. Where did she go?"

"How the hell should I know? We were right outside the door. She couldn't get by us."

The two men were staring at the empty cubicles. They did not see the silvery figure emerge from the mirror and take shape behind them.

"Well where is the bitch then?"

"You know I really dislike it when people call me a bitch."

The men turned in shocked surprise at the feminine voice with the Scottish accent. The last thing they saw was Catherine Weaver pointing at them with both hands. The metal shafts leaped from her fingers and drove into each man's forehead.

Five minutes later the hotel limousine departed for the airport. Catherine was on her way home.

John strained under the weight of the barbell. Funny, he thought, in the tunnels physical fitness was largely a matter of trying not to starve to death and running for your life. Back in this time a little more effort might be required. He focused on his breathing and counted the repetitions. As he finished the set he heard the music begin to play behind him.

John turned to see Cameron kneeling at the CD player she had brought into the gym. She was barefoot, wearing a pair of leggings and a tee shirt she had tied off to create a bare midriff look. As John watched she fastened her hair back and took up an elegantly structured pose. She raised her arms into an oval with her fingers brushing lightly above her head while bending her left leg out until her foot touched her right knee. For seconds she held the pose, utterly immobile, an exquisitely beautiful statue. Then she began to move in perfect unison with the music. She pirouetted, arched her back, extended her leg, and seemed to float forward. She reversed direction and spun back across the room.

John did not recognize the music but he knew he would never hear it again without visualizing Cameron. With each new movement she created a fusion of sight and sound that would never leave his memory. Without even realizing it he walked across the room and sat down on the floor. As he drank in every new motion, every gesture, he became aware that someone was sitting at his side. Looking down he saw that Savannah had also taken up a place on the floor. Her face bore an expression of rapturous attention. Had he glanced to his right he would have seen Sarah standing in the doorway watching intently with a look of absolute amazement.

The music was building to a conclusion and Cameron's movements mirrored its growing intensity. As the piece struck its final note she spun one last time into a kneeling position directly in front of John and Savannah opening her arms widely as if giving herself to them without reservation. Savannah leaped to her feet laughing and applauding. John could not move. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"Oh Cameron! That was so so cool!" Savannah was almost bubbling with joy. "Can you teach me to do that?"

"You want to learn to dance?"

"Oh yes, yes, yes."

"I have never taught anyone but I can show you some movements. But you will have to practice."

"I will. I promise. Can we start today?"

"All right Savannah." Cameron smiled. "Go change into some play clothes and we will start."

Savannah clapped her hands and ran from the room calling out, "I'll be right back."

John was still sitting on the floor, transfixed. "That was extraordinary Cameron. Where did you learn to do that?"

Cameron sat down beside him on the floor. He was suddenly aware of a look of profound sadness on her face.

"You remember when we were trying to find Andy Goode's Turk?"

"Sure."

"We were trying to locate his partner, Dimitri Shipkov. He had a sister, Maria, who operated a dance studio. I took a ballet class so I could meet her and find out if she knew where he was."

"And that's when you discovered ballet?" John asked.

"Yes. Oh John, it was more marvelous than I ever could have envisioned. It became part of me. I practiced in my room at our house. Every time I danced I felt more alive than I ever thought I could be."

"Dimitri and his sister were killed weren't they?"

"Russian mobsters were hunting him," Cameron answered. "I told Maria that if she would take me to him, I could help them. She took me to Dimitri. He told me about Sarkissian and the Turk. I thanked him, I left them both, and the Russians found them."

John could feel Cameron tremble. "I could have saved her John. The men who killed Maria and Dimitri walked right by me. It would have been easy for me to stop them."

"But you didn't?"

"No. At that stage of my development I thought only in terms of the mission. My mission was to acquire information. I obtained it and ignored everything else."

"You wouldn't do that now, would you Cam?"

Cameron slowly shook her head. "I would not. I have learned so much about the value of life...of the need to protect it. But I learned too late for Maria. Because of her I love to dance but when I dance I think of Maria and I remember how I failed her."

John gently put his arm around Cameron's shoulders and tilted his head to touch hers.

"Cameron, you remember when I woke up with the nightmare the other night?"

Cameron nodded.

"I was dreaming about the Walton patrol."

"Your third commendation for extraordinary valor."

John chuckled bitterly.

"Commendation... Do you know it took them two days to decide if they were going to decorate me or court martial me? Do you know what I did that night?"

"You saved the lives of five of your men, John."

"And I was responsible for the deaths of two unarmed human prisoners. One died at my order, the other at my own hand. But Cameron, even today I'm not sure if I regret it. I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again. I know I was about to kill the guard who hurt you until you stopped me."

"I am not sure I understand," Cameron said.

"I fear there is a darkness in me Cameron. I believe I am capable of things that I would rather not think about...things that already haunt me. But you bring a light into my life. You are my conscience now. I watched you dance just now and it lifted my heart. You may not have saved Maria but when you dance you celebrate her life with every move, every gesture you make. You are saving me Cameron, every moment of every day."

"Thank you John." Cameron kissed him, deeply, passionately.

Finally John reluctantly pulled back.

"I think I hear your first pupil coming."

Sarah could not escape the utter incongruity of it all. Three days ago she had been in a Los Angeles jail facing charges that would keep her in prison for the rest of her days. Now she was standing in a San Francisco mansion watching her son's cyborg lover give ballet lessons. She remembered a line from a movie she had once seen on late night television...an old pirate movie. "Faith, tis an uncertain life entirely."

"Well, what's this then?" Catherine Weaver had returned.

"Mommy!" Savannah abandoned her session with Cameron and ran to embrace Catherine. As she watched Catherine gather Savannah up into her arms, Sarah wondered if Catherine cared about her as much as the little girl obviously loved her. It truly was an uncertain world.

An hour later everyone except Savannah had gathered around the table in the headquarters. The child had been left upstairs watching a video to spare her the substance of the discussion.

"So they were willing to kill anyone else in the room in order to kill you," John said. "Murderous bastards weren't they?

"Not anymore," Catherine answered with clear satisfaction.

"I believe this further demonstrates the importance my brother attaches to undermining Zeira Corporation," John Henry observed.

"I hope your Mr. Murch keeps his head down Catherine," John said.

"There may be another alternative, Captain Connor." John Henry looked at one of his computer monitors. "James Ellison has just checked into the Mark Hopkins hotel."

Ellison walked slowly through the classically elegant hotel lobby. He was following the directions given to him. Weaver had been precise in her brief telephone call. "Go through the lobby at 6:45 PM. Walk toward the main hotel entrance." He had almost reached that entrance when he heard the voice behind him.

"Good evening Mr. Ellison."

Ellison turned and for a moment was frozen in shock. "John? John Connor?"

"Yes, it's good to see you again Mr. Ellison." John held out his hand and Ellison grasped it more from ingrained habit than conscious decision. This was, but at the same time, was not John Connor. When he had last seen him a few days ago, Connor had been an emotionally charged seventeen year old boy. This was a man, poised, confident, and with a probing gaze that Ellison found unnerving.

"How? I mean is it true? Did you...?" Ellison verged on incoherence.

John looked reassuringly at him. "You have questions. I can give you answers. Will you come with me?"

Numbly, Ellison nodded.

John flipped open a cell phone. "Cameron, we are coming out."

Ellison followed as they left the hotel and entered the car that pulled up at the precisely correct moment.

Ellison's sense of wonder expanded as he entered the headquarters. John Henry, without a cord in the back of his head, greeted him warmly. Catherine Weaver also appeared glad to see him. Only Sarah Connor seated at the table looked ambivalent about his presence. John and Cameron, who had driven him here, took seats at the table and Ellison noted that he was holding her hand.

That's interesting, he thought.

John seemed to call the meeting to order. "John Henry, I'd like you to give Mr Ellison a briefing. Explain to him where we stand today. When John Henry has finished I'll try to answer any other questions you have."

Twenty seven minutes later, Ellison's head was still spinning. He felt as if he had just been initiated into the deepest mysteries of existence and that he was not prepared. He had anticipated asking a million questions but now only one occurred to him.

"What is it you want me to do?"

John looked pleased that the inquiry had moved forward so quickly. "We need our own intelligence service, one that can figure out what our enemy's intentions are and protect our people from its plots."

"And hopefully keep Mr. Murch alive." John Henry looked completely sincere.

"In effect, Mr. Ellison, I need a combined CIA, FBI and Secret Service and I need it quickly. I want you to resume your position as head of security for Zeira Corporation and use that as cover for your real activities."

"Is that all?" This was more than he could grasp. Looking around the table his gaze stopped on Sarah. "You always said that your son was destined to lead the fight to save mankind from the machines. But look at this table. There are as many machines here as humans. Don't you find that ironic Sarah?"

Sarah's voice was quietly impassive. "My son is in charge here, Mr. Ellison. Let him answer that question."

John rose and walked around the table until he stood behind John Henry. Placing his hands on John Henry's shoulders he looked squarely at Ellison.

"Mr. Ellison, I have been fighting a war, a real war, for three long years. I have seen more death, pain, blood, and suffering than I ever could have imagined. And I know that everything I have seen and done may only have been a preview of the horror that may still happen. But I also know that without John Henry and Catherine, I would not have survived."

John moved back around the table to Cameron. Reaching down he gently caressed her hair.

"I also know with absolute certainty that if Cameron were not in my life, my survival would be meaningless to me. You cannot, you must not, dismiss Cameron, Catherine and John Henry as mere machines. I believe that they are living, caring beings who happen to occupy a different form than you and I. They wish to live and they believe you and I have a right to our own lives."

John paused and gathered his thoughts before continuing with an even greater intensity.

"And there is the difference. The entity that John Henry calls his brother and that my mother and I have called Skynet is an AI that believes in the obliteration of life. It recognizes no right to existence except its own. If there truly is such a thing as absolute evil, that is Skynet. The time has come when we humans must fight for our very existence. That is beyond dispute. But in that fight we must gladly accept the support of all beings that share our ideals. You may call it ironic if you wish Mr. Ellison but I see it as a fundamental truth. The war is not against machines. It is against death. That is the war I ask you to join me in fighting."

James Ellison looked into John Connor's eyes and saw the warrior.

"All that is required for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." Ellison almost whispered the words.

"Edmund Burke," John Henry said.

Ellison nodded. "I will not stand by and do nothing. I'm with you John."

The car stopped near the entrance to the hotel. Ellison and John Connor both got out. They shook hands one last time.

"Be careful James, and good luck."

"You too John." Ellison walked away briskly as if he had a purpose.

John sat in the passenger seat deep in thought as Cameron drove home.

"Cameron, stop here for a second."

Cameron pulled the car to a halt beside a used book store that was open late.

"I will just be a minute."

John and Cameron entered the house from the garage hand in hand. "Cam, why don't you go on up to our room? I'll be right up after I talk to John Henry."

Cameron nodded her assent and walked off towards the stairway. John turned and headed for John Henry's domain. As he descended into the lower room he could see John Henry sitting with his infinite patience in front of his large bank of monitors, slowly but deliberately shifting his attention from one to another.

"Good evening, John Henry."

John Henry looked up and smiled. "Good evening Captain Connor. Is there something you need?"

"No. I just wanted to bring you a present."

"A present?" John Henry actually sounded surprised. He stood to face John.

John reached out and handed a book to a suddenly confused AI.

"I am not sure I understand, Captain Connor. Is there some information here I need to know or...?"

"No John Henry, it's just a book. A book I read as a kid. It's called The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress. It's about an artificial intelligence, a computer named Mike, who helps a group of humans fight a desperate battle against tyranny."

John smiled. "I thought you might enjoy the story. It's just a gift from a friend to a friend."

John Henry's face took on a quietly wistful expression.

"Do you really think of me as your friend?"

"John Henry, as odd as it may sound, I think that you might be my best friend."

"Then I thank you very much for gift. I will read the story."

"Good. I hope you enjoy it. Good night John Henry."

"Good night...John."

Up the stairway from the headquarters, then up to the kitchen and finally up the main staircase, John realized he was humming his version of the music Cameron had danced to. He chuckled to himself. "The ironies do just keep piling up, don't they Connor?"

Entering their bedroom, John found Cameron sitting cross legged, Indian style in the middle of the bed. She was wearing one of his tee shirts as an abbreviated nightgown and smiling enigmatically as he came into the room.

"Here she sits like patience on a monument," Cameron said.

"I beg your pardon? Or to say it differently, huh?"

"Shakespeare," Cameron replied. "Twelfth Night."

John walked over and sat beside her on the bed. He leaned forward and kissed her. "Haven't you become quite the scholar?"

Cameron giggled. "Not really. John Henry likes Shakespeare and he taught me some of it."

John ran his hand down Cameron's side and was fairly sure that she wasn't wearing anything under the shirt.

"On a less weighty matter, aren't you wearing a little more to bed than usual?'

"I was experimenting, to see if I would like it."

"And do you?"

"Not really. It feels a little heavy."

John kissed her again, longer and with greater insistence. "Would you like me to help you out of it?" His voice had become husky with emotion.

Cameron's eyes sparkled and her smile was radiant. She slowly raised her arms above her head.

"I thought you would never ask."


	4. Chapter 4

It's all too domestic for words, Sarah thought. Here they were this odd little family all sitting together around the dining room table at breakfast. There the red haired shape-shifting terminator sat beside an angelic little girl who thought she was with her mother. The two were happily discussing the lessons the child expected to study today-home schooled by an AI of incalculable intelligence. Over there, her son sat in quiet conversation with his cyborg lover while they sipped their morning coffee. Sarah suspected that Cameron drank coffee just to share the morning ritual with John. And here I am, Sarah thought, still trying to grasp how much my world had changed in such a short time - a short time at least in the way I measure it.

Sarah picked up a piece of toast from her plate and then put it back down. Once more she found that she simply had no appetite.

"Good morning everyone." All heads at the table turned in surprise. It was the first time that John Henry had ever come up from his covert domain hidden in the old fallout shelter.

"I am sorry to interrupt but I assumed you would want this immediately." John Henry pushed a file folder to the center of the table.

"Ms. Connor, you have an appointment with Doctor Bajhan Saluja at 9:30 AM tomorrow."

"A doctor," Sarah said, sounding confused. "Why do I need...?"

"Because I asked John Henry to set it up, Mom. Just because Cameron and I have been away doesn't mean we've forgotten anything. You aren't eating, you have lost weight."

John turned back to John Henry. "Doctor Saluja is an oncologist?"

"Yes," John Henry replied. "As near as I can determine, he is regarded as one of the best in his field."

John Henry looked at Sarah. "The file folder contains information establishing a false identity for you. It explains that you have been living in Europe and that you are in San Francisco to visit family. It should deflect any inquiry about the lack of medical records in your name."

Sarah started to protest but seeing the resolute expression on John's face she decided that resistance would be useless.

"All right, I'll go. I'll go!"

"Good," John said. "I'll take you."

John Henry looked anxious. "If I may suggest, John, that may not be a wise idea. Your mother is a wanted fugitive and both you and Cameron are mentioned in law enforcement communications as known associates. Your presence with her might increase the likelihood that she will be recognized."

"I am not going to let her go alone, John Henry."

"If I may suggest an alternative possibility," Catherine said. "If Sarah will allow me I will accompany her to her appointment."

Oh lord, it truly is an uncertain world, Sarah thought.

"Fine," she said, reaching out for the file folder to begin studying her new identity.

Doctor Saluja made no attempt to conceal his concern. "Ms. Delacroix, the tests are not indicative of cancer but they do suggest a highly virulent infection that is rapidly spreading throughout your body. I believe that infection is a response to an external toxin that has been introduced into your system."

"Are you suggesting that my sister has been poisoned, Doctor?" Sarah glanced at Catherine who was seated beside her. Catherine now resembled an older more mature version of Sarah herself. Her expression looked to be one of sincere concern.

"That is actually a reasonably accurate statement, Mrs. Montoya."

Saluja returned his attention to Sarah. "You told my nurse that you were aware of the metallic device implanted in your breast?"

"Yes, my work involves highly sensitive industrial security. It was inserted as part of an investigation I was conducting. It no longer works."

Saluja seemed to accept the explanation.

"In my opinion it is almost certainly the source of your infection. The concentration of impaired blood cells increases as the proximity to that device decreases.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Sarah tried to sound resolute and courageous. At that moment she felt neither.

"The device must be removed immediately. There is a day surgery suite attached to this office and I can do the procedure myself. Then we shall begin a protocol of anti-infection medication. I must be candid. The drugs we will employ are highly potent and unpleasant side effects are virtually certain. I anticipate you will feel quite ill for the next seven to ten days. I suggest that you allow me to admit you to the hospital."

"No." Sarah responded instantly. "No!"

"My sister does not deal well emotionally with hospitals, Doctor. I assure you that I will be able to provide her with appropriate care at my home." As she spoke Catherine felt Sarah's hand brush against hers. Turning to look at her, Catherine saw Sarah nod in quiet appreciation.

Doctor Saluja did not appear happy but he elected not to press the point. "If that is what you wish. Please take a seat back in the waiting area and I will make the necessary preparations."

As the car pulled into the garage Sarah realized how unpleasant the next few days were likely to be. Her breast throbbed, she felt waves of nausea roll over her while chills and sweats marched through her body in an endless procession. As she tried to step out of the car she felt her knees buckle. She would have fallen to the floor if an arm had not suddenly been around her waist holding her erect.

"Accepting help when you need it is not an act of weakness, Sarah," Catherine said. "Ask your son if you do not believe me."

Catherine had abandoned the elder sister facade and had returned to her Weaver persona. With her assistance Sarah walked slowly to the door into the house. As the door opened she saw that the reception committee had formed. John, Cameron, Savannah, and even John Henry were waiting with varying degrees of visible impatience. Catherine raised her hand to ward off any questions. "She will be alright, but now she needs to go to her room and lie down."

Sarah felt John's arms go around her as he kissed her forehead. Cameron gave her hand a quick squeeze and Savannah gently hugged her. John Henry offered a gentle sympathetic smile.

"Captain Connor, if you and Cameron will help your mother upstairs, I need to speak briefly with John Henry."

The little procession moved off. Sarah supported by John on one side and Cameron on the other was trailed by an entirely serious Savannah. As they were about to leave the room Sarah whispered to John. They stopped and Sarah turned to look back.

"Thank you Catherine."

"You are welcome Sarah."

John Henry watched the data scroll across the computer screen. The chemical analysis was exactly what he had expected. John was not going to like this. Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs he realized that he was about to have an opportunity to test his last assumption.

"Good morning John Henry."

"Good morning John...Cameron. How is Sarah this morning?"

"Pretty much as the doctor predicted. She feels lousy so we decided not to stay very long in her room."

"Catherine made us leave," Cameron said.

"Yeah." John had a look of bemused surprise. "When did Catherine turn into Florence Nightingale?"

"I believe that she feels responsible since she assured the doctor that your mother would receive adequate care," John Henry replied.

"Oh, I think we have roared right past adequate. So what are you working on?"

"I fear that this is going to distress you John. I have been testing the transmitter that the Kaleba agent implanted in your mother when she was a captive."

John Henry held up the miniscule piece of metal between his finger and thumb.

John's expression became one of cold focused attention.

"Doctor Saluja's diagnosis was correct. This was the source of your mother's illness. It was coated multiple times with a toxic chemical compound. In that form it acted as if it were a time release medicinal capsule."

John Henry shook his head sadly. "The people that employed this device did not intend for Sarah to survive its use. I believe that it may have been removed barely in time. Based on the amount of toxin left on the transmitter I have concluded that in another week the poison would have caused irreversible damage.

John took the transmitter from John Henry and placed it in his palm. For a moment he stared at it and then clenched his fist. Cameron could tell that he was grasping it so tightly that it was cutting into his hand. Seeing a drop of blood she whispered into his ear. "John. Put it down, John, please."

As always Cameron could pull him back from the brink. He handed the transmitter back to John Henry and appeared to reach a decision .

"I think we are going to need something more than just the intelligence operation James Ellison is putting together. I am going to require a group of people willing to take part in more extreme action. Someone is going to answer for what they tried to do to my mother." John spoke the last sentence with a chilling precision.

Cameron moved in front of John and stared intently into his eyes. "If you are truly serious about this John, I know where to start."

"Where?"

"Chola," Cameron said. "To assemble what you want will require people who do not feel bound by legal constraints. Chola has links to that world." Cameron's voice was as resolute as John's had been.

"Do you think that she will help us?"

"Chola trusts me. I believe she will at least listen to us. We must go and see her."

"All right," John said. We'll go as soon as Mom is feeling better."

"If you have a project, I suggest you start on it immediately." So intent had they been on their conversation neither John nor Cameron had noticed Catherine enter the room.

"Are you trying to get rid of us Catherine?"

"Captain Connor, right now more than anything else your mother needs rest and quiet. Your presence in your current state of mind is needlessly agitating. If something requires your attention elsewhere-go. I promise you that I will see to Sarah's care."

John looked at Cameron who shrugged her shoulders. He turned to John Henry who tried with less success to mimic Cameron's gesture.

"Alright Nurse Nightingale, we will go. Pack a bag, Cam. We leave for LA tomorrow morning."

"John, I believe that you missed your turn." Cameron was concerned.

"Really?"

"Yes, the turn off for I-80 is back there."

"What if I don't want I-80?" John asked.

"But John we have to go that way to get to Interstate 5."

"Backseat driver," John said.

"But I am not in the...Oh."

Cameron realized she was being teased when she heard John chuckle. She rarely fell into such literalisms anymore, but she had walked squarely into that one.

"We're going to drive Route 1, Cam, down the coast."

"It will take us much longer to get to Los Angeles that way."

"I know but I've always wanted to see the north coast. I may never have the chance again, so I want to see it now. I want to see it with you."

Cameron did not actually blush but it was close enough for John.

As they drove south the early morning fog burned away. The cloudless blue sky and the crystalline beauty of the Northern Pacific flowed into each other in the distant horizon. When they put the car windows down they could hear the waves pulsating against the shore as if the ocean itself were a living being. Recalling the devastated coastline around Los Angeles where most of his war had been fought, John mournfully understood that none of this exquisite natural beauty would survive If Judgment Day came. It would be lifetimes, if ever, before it would be this lovely again. Make a memory, John, he thought. Grasp the image, the mental picture, and put away where it can be recalled and cherished if the horror cannot be stopped.

At a sign for Wadell Creek Beach, John pulled off and parked. Taking Cameron by the hand he led her out onto a broad golden strand. The breeze was stiff from the sea and out in the bay the multi-colored sails of the windsurfers danced across the water. Down to their left two fishermen were tossing their lines and their hopes into the sea. Up the beach to their right a family was laying claim to the area around an outdoor grill. Let the picnicking begin. Make a memory.

Cameron, who was wearing her favorite jeans, boots, blouse and light jacket outfit walked to the water's edge. Bending down she touched a receding wave with her fingers.

"It's cold," she said.

"Yeah, the ocean is always sort of chilly up here."

Balancing herself against John, Cameron pulled off her boots and handed them to him. She bounced away walking barefoot in the surf while the waves splashed around her ankles. Suddenly she turned, and with an elegant kick she splashed some water on him. She smiled broadly and then turned to run up the beach. John gave chase but he knew that if Cameron were really running he would never get close to her. But he also suspected that today he would be allowed to pursue her until he caught her.

He actually did get close about fifty yards up the beach. Then she turned, ran back, and leaped into his arms. As she kissed him a loud whistle of appreciation came from one of the two boys in the picnicking family who were playing frisbee.

An errant throw, a gust of wind, and the frisbee flew in their direction. From a flat footed stance Cameron leaped into the air, caught the plastic disk and in one motion sent it whirling back to its young owner. As the frisbee sailed into his grasp the boy waved in open mouthed admiration. Make a memory, John.

As the day wore on John stopped again at a place known as Lovers Point north of Monterey. He had a vague recollection that the name really didn't refer to anything romantic but today that did not matter. He walked with Cameron along a natural stone peninsula that jutted out into the ocean. He wanted a memory of holding Cameron in his arms on Lovers Point. The memory was altered a bit when the large rogue wave crashed against the point showering them both in sea foam. Still, as he pushed her wet hair back out of her eyes and kissed her, John decided that this would do.

They had a little time to stroll the quaint streets of Monterey before checking into the Inn. The large window in their room provided them with a stunning view of sunset on the bay. John sat in the large armchair with Cameron curled in his lap watching the sun slide into the darkening horizon before they made love. As their bodies intertwined and their lips hungrily sought out each other, John realized that there was something of the first and the last each time they came together; the wild, unrestrained passion of the first now flavored with the growing knowledge of each other's desires from the last. Their love was simultaneously memory and promise.

In the morning John made a quick call back to San Francisco.

"Is everything alright?" Cameron asked.

"John Henry says Mom is still going through the side effects but Catherine thinks that it is slowly getting better. Savannah misses her ballet teacher."

Cameron smiled and then asked, "Where are we going today?"

"There's something I want you to see in Carmel just south of here."

An hour later they arrived at John's destination.

"What is this place, John?"

"This was once the main Catholic mission in Northern California. It has been restored and the church is supposed to have a beautiful altar."

"How do you know all this, John?"

"I read a guidebook once. Come on Cam."

The altar was in fact stunning, a large gothic creation adorned with ornate dark wooden carvings that filled the front of the church. John sat down with Cameron in a pew near the middle of the sanctuary. The atmosphere was unmistakably one of quiet reverence.

Cameron felt an uncertainty about religion. As a human social institution she understood the concept but as a matter of belief or faith she remained confused. Clearly, many humans embraced religious faith as a means of linking what they believed to be their immortal souls with a benevolent creator. Others simply did not possess that faith at all. Cameron knew that her original creator was anything but benevolent while the question of her soul seemed unanswerable. But as she watched John bow his head she decided that despite her failure to understand a quiet respect was still appropriate.

As they left the church Cameron asked whether he had prayed for Sarah.

"Yes, I did," John replied.

"John, do you think that I have a soul?"

John froze in mid-step and took her face between his hands. "Cameron, if you do not then no one does. Do you know what else I prayed for?"

"No," Cameron replied.

"I prayed that I would always be able to be worthy of you."

Cameron smiled slyly. "Well, that does give you something to aspire to."

Got me again, John thought.

The two-lane road south from Carmel through Big Sur offered staggeringly beautiful ocean views on their right. John did, however, feel a need to pay some extra attention to the road. Then about thirty miles south of Monterey he abruptly turned right off the highway.

"Where are we going now, John?"

"The beach at the end of this road is supposed to be something special."

After parking they walked toward the beach. Cameron suddenly cried out. "John, look! The sand is purple."

"It's the minerals that leach out of the rocks," John said. "It's supposed to get darker as you go north. Come on, let's go look."

They had walked a short distance up the beach when a male figure abruptly darted by them and dove into the surf.

"John, that man was naked."

"As cold as the water is here, I doubt that he'll stay in very long."

"But John, he was naked."

"I think they allow nude bathing in this area."

Cameron grinned and touched the top button of her blouse. "Really? Maybe we..."

"Don't even think about it, Cam."

"I thought you liked ogling my nude body."

"I do," John said. "But that's a pleasure I'd rather not share with the rest of the male population of Northern California."

"Selfish." Cameron's smile was positively wicked.

"When it comes to you, always. Come on, we should start back to the car."

When they reached the point on the beach near the parking area, they turned for one last lingering look at the sea. John stepped behind Cameron and gently folded her back into his arms. As she allowed herself to slip fully into his embrace, Cameron sensed the inherent contradiction. Her physical prowess exceeded his in every way but in his arms she felt safer and more protected at that moment than at any other time in her existence. She tilted her head back against his shoulder as he leaned forward to whisper into her ear.

"Cameron."

"Yes John?"

"Will you marry me?"

Cameron spun around as if she had received an electric shock. "John, you don't have to...I mean it isn't necessary..."

"Cameron, shhh." John lightly touched her lips with his fingertip. "That was not a complex question. It does not require analysis. The answer is either yes or no. Will...you..marry me?"

"Yes."

Make a memory, John, make a memory.

They stopped in front of a small wood frame house.

"Is this where Chola lives?" John asked.

Cameron nodded. "This is the address John Henry gave me."

"You go in and talk to her. After you have prepared her for the fact that I am three years older than I was two weeks ago, I'll come and see if she is interested in our project."

Cameron got out of the car and looked back at John.

"You know that this is not one of the better neighborhoods in this city. You are a well dressed anglo saxon male in an expensive car. Please try to avoid any needless confrontations while I am in there."

"I will be the soul of discretion," John promised.

John watched as Cameron knocked on the door. When it opened he recognized Chola in the doorway. Even from this distance he could see the surprise in her expression. Chola stepped back and motioned Cameron inside. The door closed behind her.

As the time ticked by John watched as people strolled past the car, glanced at it and him but moved on without comment. Tiring of sitting behind the wheel John got out and walked around to the passenger side. He leaned against the car, folded his arms, and continued to watch the house. In that position he heard the loud voices coming down the street.

The three men looked to be in their early twenties. A good deal of their disposable income had obviously gone to the tattoo and body piercing parlors. They swaggered three abreast in the classic street-tough manner. The sidewalk was theirs and anyone else could damn well get out of the way. John remembered his promise to Cameron. He was about to turn and get back in the car when he saw the fourth person in the group-a young boy no more than fourteen trailing the toughs like an obedient puppy. The boy was big for his age and wore a grin that seemed oddly familiar. It was Delgado, Caesar Delgado, his Delgado. John leaned back against the car.

"Hey white bread, nice car," one of the men commented.

"Yeah, but who said you could drive it in our neighborhood?"

"Maybe you give us a ride and we let it go this time."

The three men were having fun. They had formed an arc in front of John, taking turns with their comments, waiting to see him sweat. Delgado stood back watching how they hassled the anglo.

John had once had a fair command of Spanish insults but it had been a while. Let's see, he thought, hijo de puta was still probably a good starting point. From there a few references to sexual inadequacies, dietary habits and family deficiencies should do it. From the darkening expressions on their faces, John was certain that even if he had the words wrong, the tune was coming through. The one in the middle, the leader, roared a curse and leaped at him. John simply moved aside and kicked him on the side of the knee...hard. The man screamed in pain and fell forward hitting his head on the car. The second tough guy had just started to move when John drew his pistol and jammed it against his throat.

"John, I thought I asked you to avoid confrontations."

The third man wheeled at the sound of the female voice to see Cameron standing on the porch, the pistol in her hand aimed at him.

"They started it," John said, grinning.

"Chola is ready to talk to you when you are through playing."

"You two pick up your friend and get the hell out of here." John ignored the looks of furious loathing from all three.

"Caesar, wait a second. I'd like to talk to you."

The boy looked surprised. "How do you know who I am?"

"Let's just say I've got second sight. I know who you are. More importantly, I know who you can be."

"And who can I be?" Delgado asked in a clearly disbelieving tone.

"A better man than any one of those three pieces of crap you were trailing after."

"They aren't crap," Delgado protested. "They are respected men in my neighborhood."

"Nobody respects them Caesar. The weaker people they hurt are afraid of them but no one respects them. You just saw how stupid they are. They let me make them angry and they rushed me before they knew what I could do. If I had wanted it, all three would be dead now."

Delgado blinked as the truth of John's statement sank in.

"I have to go talk to the lady in the house. How about you watch my car?"

"Twenty bucks."

John grinned. "Thief. Ten bucks. Five now, five when I come out."

"Deal."

John had always thought Chola was lovely-a sort of hispanic princess with her huge dark eyes and long gleaming black hair. But he had also sensed a crushing sadness about her. It was as if too much pain, too much disappointment, too much loss had been cast on her too early in her life. Experience is a great teacher but she kills her pupils. Today, however, Chola's sadness had been replaced by an expression of stunned disbelief.

"I've always known that there were very different things about both of you," Chola said. "Cameron has tried to explain some of it but I look at you I can't..."

John was sitting in a large chair. Cameron sat down on the arm and put her hand on his neck.

"Chola, the last time you saw me, you said that we lose everyone we love." John slipped his arm around Cameron's waist. "Sometimes we get them back."

Chola looked momentarily shaken. "Okay, for now let's say I believe you are both what you say you are. Cameron tells me you want people who are prepared to do violence."

"When it is required," John replied.

"The three men you met out front can be violent," Chola observed.

"I want people who are serious, Chola, not street scum."

"I may be able to find you such people but it will take money."

"I have money."

"And it will require loyalty from you."

"I will return loyalty with loyalty," John responded.

Chola made her decision. "I will need a week, perhaps two, but I will find you the type of people you want."

"Good." John rose and Cameron stood by his side. "Cameron will be your contact. She will be in touch to see how things are going." He turned to leave and then turned back to Chola. "The boy standing by my car, do you know him?"

"Chola glanced out the window. "I know his family. I don't really know him."

"This is your game now, Chola, and I won't tell you how to play it. But I like that kid. If you can use him, I'd like to get him away from the people he is running with."

Chola looked at John intently. "People follow you now don't they? They wouldn't have when I saw you last but they will now. I'll see what I can do about the boy."

Cameron looked at Chola and smiled. To John's surprise Chola smiled back.

"Hasta luego," Cameron said.

"Vaya con dios, hermana."

As John and Cameron came down the sidewalk, Caesar, who had been leaning on the car, stood up. John pulled a bill from his wallet and handed it to him.

"The woman who lives here is doing something for me. She might need some help. Remember what I told you. You can be the better man."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that," John said. "Keep it hanging Caesar."

"You too, Jefe."

They were only a block from Chola's house when John's cell phone rang.

"John Henry, is Mom-?"

Cameron could hear the concern surging through John's voice. Then the tone changed. Now he was coldly calm, serious, and responding in one or two words to the information John Henry was providing.

"Thank you John Henry." John flipped his phone closed and reaching over with his right hand entered an address in the car's GPS system.

"What is it John?" Cameron could see the Captain John Connor battle visage slip into place.

"John Henry set up a computer monitoring program for me. I gave him the names of everyone I remembered from the future. All my company J troopers, everyone I cared about. The program was supposed to find them in this time and alert me if anything happened to them."

"And he has gotten an alert?" Cameron asked.

"Not at first, that's the problem."

The sun was going down and a soft evening twilight was settling over the city. Cameron felt the car accelerate as John jammed on the gas.

"About a week ago there was an accident on the freeway in West Hollywood. A car ran off the road and flipped over. The young couple in the car were killed instantly but their little girl just over a year old was in a car seat and she miraculously survived. The newspaper treated the story as just another car wreck in LA. But last night a local TV station reported that the police were now investigating the case as a vehicular homicide. A witness has come forward who claims to have seen another car force the young couple off the highway."

"I am not sure I understand, John," Cameron said.

"The TV report said that the little girl was doing well and had been temporarily placed with experienced foster parents named Bryan and Ellen Mitchell. John Henry says the reason the monitoring program didn't pick up the first story was because the newspaper got the the child's name wrong. The paper reported the little girl's name as Alice. The television report corrected it. The child's name isn't Alice. It's Allison.

Cameron glanced at the GPS screen. "John, that is the Mitchell house over there."

John pulled the car to the curb and cut the engine. The house sat on a corner. They were to the left and slightly behind it. The kitchen light was on and he could see the back door. The solid, if unpretentious, two story home fronted on the street ahead. The surrounding neighborhood looked placid and undisturbed in the early evening darkness. This was not a place accustomed to violence. That was about to change.

"We'll go in the back," John whispered as they crept forward. They had only gone a few steps when he saw the van come speeding up the street in front of the house. He could hear the tires screech as it stopped out of his line of sight. There was the sound of running feet and a tearing crash as if the front door had been smashed open.

John drew his pistol and glanced back to see that Cameron had done the same. They sprinted together toward the back door. John tried the knob and found it locked.

"Open it Cam," John whispered.

Cameron gave the door a quick shove and it popped open. Any noise was masked by the sound of a woman screaming in the front of the house. Two shots rang out and the screaming stopped.

"Son of a bitch," John snarled and moved rapidly through the house. With Cameron following they hurried through a dining room and into a deceptively normal living room. Photographs on the wall, magazines tossed casually about, and a sweater draped across the couch all spoke to a settled world that no longer existed here. The three men who had just destroyed that world stood in the vestibule at the foot of the stairs. Behind them the shattered front door dangled on its broken hinges.

The men were all dressed in identical brown khaki work clothes with baseball caps pulled down across their foreheads. The body of a woman lay face down at their feet, a pool of blood forming near her head. Two of the men were shouting at each other oblivious to the fact there was now someone else in the house.

"Man, why did you have to shoot her? She told us where the kid was."

The second man jerked his thumb toward the open door. "You heard the man. No live witnesses. Now go get the kid."

The first man turned and had taken one step toward the stairs when John shot him. One bullet struck the side of his head and he crashed to the floor. His two companions turned in thunderstruck surprise to face the new threat. Neither even managed to raise their weapons. Cameron had moved beside John, her pistol locked on its target. The crash of two automatic pistols firing in unison echoed through the the house and both of the remaining intruders went down.

John was about to move forward when he heard the footsteps on the porch. There was another one. Even as the thought registered, the fourth man came through the door. He was larger than his deceased companions, dark hair, no cap with a hard, coldly impassive look on his face.

John squeezed off a quick shot, perfectly aimed, that struck the man squarely on the forehead...and bounced off. In that split second, John could see a gleam of silver where his bullet had hit.

"Ohhh shit." John dove to his right, his impetus significantly enhanced by the shove Cameron applied. He tucked and rolled behind a chair as the terminator's gun fired at the space he had just occupied. Looking back, he was pleased to see Cameron dive behind the couch. Her new sensitivity to pain had at least discouraged her from willingly taking a bullet. John had no doubt, however, that if it came down to his safety she still wouldn't hesitate.

In battle you must analyze your options quickly. The Glock wouldn't stop a terminator, but if he could hit its eyes it might throw its visual function offline. A pain more remembered than felt in his right side reminded him that even a blinded terminator was still deadly. Still, if he could damage its sight, it would improve their odds.

For the moment the metal seemed to be focusing on Cameron. It was walking purposefully toward her hiding place. But that exposed its left side.

"Hey!" John yelled. The machine started to turn its head and John fired twice directly into its left eye. The terminator staggered back a step,shaking its head as it tried to compensate for the damage. It was turning its pistol back in John's direction when a missile with long brown hair burst across the room. Cameron grabbed the terminator by the right arm ripping the gun out of its hand and spinning it crashing into the wall. As it tried to extricate itself from the wood and plaster she smashed into it again, knocking it to the floor.

"John, get the child. I can deal with this." Cameron's tone was insistent.

The terminator was struggling to regain its feet when Cameron kicked it, driving it back across the living room. John's every emotion fought against leaving Cameron alone. Rationally, he knew, however, that this was her fight. All he would do was get in her way. Turning, he dashed up the steps.

On the second floor he could see the doors to three different rooms. Jerking open the first door he knew immediately that it was an adult's bedroom with nothing to indicate the presence of a child. The second room had all the appearance of a child's room; small beds, cartoon posters on the wall and stuffed toys lying about but no sign of a little girl. He was about to turn to the third room when he heard the muffled sob coming from the closet.

John knelt by the closet door and slowly opened it. He found himself staring into the piercing black eyes of a defiant little girl about four or five years old. She had an hispanic appearance with olive hued skin and dark black hair. She was holding a smaller child who had her face buried against the older girl's shoulder.

"Go away!" the little girl snapped. "Leave us alone!"

"Its alright sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm John. What's your name?"

The child seemed surprised by the soft kindness in John's voice.

"I'm Marissa."

"And who is this?" John asked.

"Her name is Allison."

As if responding to the sound of her name, the younger child turned her head to look at John. He looked into her small brown eyes and saw...Cameron.

"There is bad men in the house," Marissa whispered. "Bad men took my mommy and now they are here too."

"They aren't going to hurt you or Allison, Marissa. I promise."

John heard the sound of steps in the hall. Please God let it be Cameron, he prayed. It was. She was carrying something in a plastic bag and except for a small cut above her left eye, she seemed unhurt by her battle.

"Did you find the child? Oh you found two."

"Marissa, this is my friend Cameron. We would like you and Allison to come with us now."

"Away from the bad men?"

"Away from the bad men," John confirmed.

In the distance, the wailing of sirens was piercing the darkness. The police were coming.

"We need to go John." Cameron was pleading.

"Will you come, Marissa?"

"Yes," she said and she relaxed her grip on Allison. John picked up the smaller child and handed her to Cameron. Then he scooped Marissa into his arms.

"Lets go. And Cameron," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "cover her eyes as we go down the stairs. I don't want them to see what's down there."

The room was not quite dark. All the lights except the small lamp on the table near the window had been turned off. John sat at the table, his pistol lying in front of him, peering out the window at the motel parking lot. Cameron checked to see if both children were asleep, gently pulling a cover up over Marissa's shoulder before joining him at the table.

"So what do we do now John?"

"We wait until morning. I go out and buy a couple of children's car seats and then we go home."

"You are taking the little girls with us?"

"Let's just say for now your ballet class has increased."

"Are you sure this is the right course? I'm not doubting you," Cameron sounded uncertain, "it is just that-"

"We are taking them with us, Cameron. I wish I could say I was certain that this is the right thing to do, but I can't. I know only that someone or something has spent a lot of effort and shed a lot of blood trying to kill one little girl. I am not giving them another chance."

Even in the dim light Cameron could see the expression of unrelenting determination. The girls were going to San Francisco.

"Alright, but let me show you something else." Reaching to the floor Cameron picked up the bag she had carried from the Mitchell house. Thrusting her hand into the bag she pulled out a human head still dripping a small amount of blood.

John jerked back in his chair before he saw the wires and broken metal extending from the neck. It was the head of the terminator Cameron had battled back at the foster home.

"So you brought me the head of Alfredo Garcia?"

Cameron looked confused and John shook his head. "Never mind, bad joke. It is kind of a grisly souvenir though isn't it?"

"It isn't a souvenir, John. This seemed to be the best way of preserving its chip."

"Why not just take it out?" John asked.

"Before we all made the temporal jump three years ago, Catherine defeated the terminator that killed Derek."

John's face drained of all expression as he remembered his uncle's dead body sprawled on the floor of the Weaver house.

"Catherine removed its chip but it was coated with phosphorus. As soon as it was exposed to the air the substance burned and corrupted all the data on the chip. John Henry could learn nothing from it."

"And you think if it is still in the head, John Henry might find a way around the auto-destruct?"

"I hope so," Cameron said.

"I only love smart women," John whispered.

A smile danced quickly across Cameron's face before she again became serious.

"That is not all John. This terminator appeared to be at least an 800 model but it didn't fight like one."

"In what way?"

"I defeated it too easily. It lacked the tensile strength as well as the agility I would have expected from an 800 model."

"Do you think it was just defective?"

"No,I think it was built under conditions that lacked the sophistication of a Skynet construction facility. John, I don't think this terminator came from the future. I think it was built in this time period."

John's face turned ashen. "And if they have built one..."

Cameron completed the thought, "...they have built more. Perhaps many more."

"My love," John said, "I think we need to get home."


	5. Chapter 5

**To Distress the Wicked**

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His office had something of a hastily arranged and temporary nature. The desks and chairs were mismatched and the metal file cabinets were haphazardly arranged against the wall. There were no pictures, mementos or personal touches. This was James Ellison's war room. The multiple files spread across the desk reflected unrelenting activity, not decorating.

Helga, his secretary, also known as the "cast iron lady" as well as other names less flattering, stuck her head in the door. "Security reports that Mr. Murch has arrived."

Ellison rose from his desk and walked to the window. The executive parking lot was just below him. From his elevated vantage point he could see Murch's gleaming pate as he got out of his car. He was immediately flanked by three large male figures. The security detail would accompany Zeira Corporation's Director of Daily Operations to his office and then rotate a constant presence of at least one guard in his reception area all day.

Well, John Henry, Ellison thought, am I doing enough to keep Mr. Murch alive?

Actually, Ellison wasn't certain that his efforts were sufficient. With Zeira Corporation's Los Angeles operations scattered into three buildings, a unified security operation was difficult. It would become much easier when a new company building was acquired, but that could be months away. You can only do your best, Ellison thought.

He turned his attention back to the files on his desk. What was it John had said? "I need a combined CIA, FBI and Secret Service and I need it quickly." Pouring over the personnel files in front of him Ellison was aggressively looking for the people who could help him satisfy that request. Ex-military, retired CIA and FBI, professional body guards, police officers and private detectives were all there as well as some individuals who defied easy classification. He had to apply a level of intuition. Look for talent and weed out the crazies.

Loud voices from Helga's reception area broke his concentration. A male voice was insisting that he wished to see Ellison while Helga was ferociously playing gatekeeper. The words "No Appointment!" seemed to dominate her response. Ellison decided to referee the dispute. Opening the door to the outer office he saw the face of a recent acquaintance.

"Agent Aldridge," Ellison said. "What brings you to Zeira Corporation?"

Aldridge looked a bit more worn, a touch less self assured than he had been at their last meeting at the Los Angeles County Jail.

"Notwithstanding the vigorous opposition of your secretary, Mr. Ellison, the FBI would like a few moments of your time."

"Administrative Assistant," Helga snapped.

"I stand corrected," Aldridge responded.

Ellison decided that Helga might have won this round. "The FBI wants my time or you do?"

"For the present that represents a unified desire."

"In that case, come in."

Ellison sat down behind his desk as Aldridge settled into one of the mismatched guest chairs.

"Mr. Ellison, where is Sarah Connor?"

"No one can ever accuse you of failing to come to the point Agent Aldridge. Why do you believe I can answer that question to your satisfaction?"

"Because in the field where I work, where you used to work, I do not believe in coincidence, happenstance, or the random acts of fate. I believe in purposeful behavior. I believe that Sarah Connor has acted with a clear purpose. I believe that at some point you have joined in that purpose."

"And why do you believe that?" Ellison was equanimity personified.

Aldridge leaned forward, a knowing smile on his face. "Because at virtually every time that she has surfaced, I find that you were in the vicinity. When the Weaver child was kidnapped only you could recover her from Sarah Connor. If the police had not followed you without your knowledge she would not have been apprehended. You visited her in the jail and soon thereafter she flees in the largest mass prison escape in California history. I do not believe in coincidences, Mr. Ellison."

"Perhaps you should start, Agent. Sometimes events are not necessarily what they seem."

"And sometimes they are exactly what they seem." Aldridge's voice took on a tone of absolute certainty. "Let me show you some photographs." Aldridge reached into his briefcase. "This is a picture taken eight years ago when Sarah Connor and her son supposedly died in a bank explosion. Look at the girl in the photo. We have always assumed that she was just a classmate or girlfriend of young Connor."

"And now you don't think so?"

"No, I do not. Look at this photo. It was taken from the security tape at the jail during the mass escape. In one respect it is the same young girl. But you can see the multiple bullet wounds she has suffered without ill effect. I believe she is, in fact, a non-human creature-a robot perhaps. I believe you know about this as well. Two nights ago there was a fatal home invasion in West Los Angeles. Although it has not been reported the police found what appears to be the headless remains of a robotic creature in the house. At least one neighbor has claimed to have seen this young woman at the scene." Aldridge forcefully gestured at Cameron's picture. "I do not believe in coincidences. There is a unifying theme here and you are aware of it."

Abruptly, Aldridge got to his feet. "I will not take up any more of your time, Mr. Ellison. But know this. I will find Sarah Connor and I will learn the truth of all that has happened. I suggest that you cooperate with me or you will suffer the same consequences that await her and her son."

Suddenly Ellison realized why Aldridge had appeared so different and yet so oddly familiar. There was a look about him that had not been there when they had last met. There was an expression on Aldridge's face that James Ellison had once seen in his own bathroom mirror. It was obsession. An all consuming preoccupation that inexorably crowded out all other signs of personality.

Ellison stood.

"Let me offer you some advice Agent Aldridge. First, I am not easily threatened so don't waste your time trying. Second, chasing Sarah Connor is a futile enterprise. You will find neither her nor any special truth. If you value your own inner peace, I urge you to walk away from this."

"We will see who finds the truth and who walks away." Aldridge nodded brusquely and left the room.

Ellison shook his head sadly as he reached into his pocket for his special cellphone. No, he thought, replacing the phone. Aldridge was smart, not as smart as he believed, but smart nevertheless. His visit was obviously an attempt to provoke some kind of emotional response. Even though John Henry had assured him that calls on that phone would be untraceable, Ellison decided against any needless risks. There would be plenty of time later to call San Francisco and warn them that another Ahab was loose on the sea.

Ellison went back to work.

John Connor disliked second guessing himself. A good commander analyzed the situation, weighed all the alternatives and made a decision. Of course you retained flexibility, a willingness to adapt if changing circumstances required it, but otherwise you followed the plan. Once you began to question your own judgment a poisonous paralysis would cripple your ability to lead. Most command decisions did not, however, involve deciding whether to let two little girls go to the bathroom.

From the moment he had irrevocably decided that he and Cameron were taking Allison and Marissa back to San Francisco, his decision had been bombarded with alternatives. John Henry had called to report on his monitoring of law enforcement communications. What the media was luridly proclaiming as the "bloodbath" at the Mitchell home had produced a corresponding spike in police activity. Amber alerts had been issued for two missing children. Patrols had increased on the LA freeways. Most disturbingly, one of the Mitchell's neighbors claimed to have seen a young man and woman get out of a late model luxury automobile just before the sound of gunfire erupted from the foster home.

"What do you advise, John Henry?"

"If you remain determined to bring the children with you, I recommend that you delay your departure for at least twenty four hours. Let the first surge of official activity dissipate before you risk the highways."

"All right John Henry, we'll do that. I'll check back in periodically."

"John...please be careful and good luck." The concern in John Henry's voice was unmistakeable.

In their own way the next decisions he had to make were even harder. Nothing in John's experience had trained him to buy clothes for two little girls. Cameron had prepared a list for him but that still left him with more discretion than he would have preferred. As he hurried through a mall department store he had no doubt that Cameron was better suited for this foray into the commercial world than he was. But Cameron's image was still being widely circulated in connection with Sarah's escape from jail. Besides she could protect the girls far better than he could if something happened at the motel. So he had undertaken this task reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

The reactions back at the motel suggested that his efforts had not been completely unsuccessful. Cameron had smiled approvingly at his choices. Marissa seemed overjoyed with the dress he had picked for her. Allison was more impressed with the small stuffed bear he had grabbed at the last moment than she was with her new outfit, but she was after all only a little more than a year old.

At ten o' clock the next morning, John quickly checked his pistol before sliding it into his shoulder holster. Pulling on his sports jacket he glanced inquiringly at Cameron.

"We are ready, John."

As ready as we're ever going to be, John thought. Cameron had done an excellent job of preparing herself and the girls. She had replaced her warrior queen outfit of jeans and boots with a delicately patterned yellow and white sundress and a pair of sandals. Her fingernails and toenails were matchingly painted a soft pink. Her hair was pinned up with a few dangling locks to frame her face. She had created the perfect image of the elegant young mother.

Cameron had trimmed Marissa's hair subtly softening her facial expression and changing the appearance of the serious child whose image was being broadcast on television. With her bright new dress, shiny new shoes, and genuinely happy smile she looked nothing like a frightened child in danger. The image was even better with Allison. Her unmistakeable resemblance to Cameron worked to their benefit. Surely, no one seeing Allison in Cameron's arms would question whether they were mother and daughter.

John had agonized much of the previous night over which route to take north. The freeways and interstates would undoubtedly be quicker but the police patrols would likely be heavier. There would be fewer police on the secondary roads but it would lengthen the trip and every moment on the road would increase the chance of being recognized. Finally, he decided to risk hiding in plain sight and take the most direct route home. Go up interstate 5, stay in traffic, watch the speed limit and hopefully make it home in one shot.

John soon discovered that he had underestimated the difficulty of traveling with young children. Little girls got tired of riding in car seats, they got hungry, they got thirsty, they just got bored. All of these events required remedial action. Unplanned stops soon substantially lengthened the time he had intended to be on the highway.

"John, please stop at the next rest area. I need to take the girls to the bathroom." Cameron's tone sounded certain.

"Cam, we are less than two hours from San Francisco. Are you sure we can't wait...?"

"John, we NEED to stop."

John glanced quickly over his shoulder at Marissa who was vigorously nodding her agreement. A good commander knows when he is beaten and when to retreat. Sighing, John flipped on the turn signal and exited at the rest stop.

The rest area was attractive and well maintained. A central building housed a visitor center as well as the restrooms. To the left, a smaller structure containing a number of vending machines sat beside a group of picnic tables. On the right, a small playground with swings, a slide, and a wooden jungle gym offered children a place to release the energy pent up by long hours in the backseat of a traveling automobile.

Parking near the front of the visitor's center, John watched with amusement as Marissa pulled Cameron toward the restrooms with a visible sense of urgency. Allison, firmly in Cameron's grasp, was looking back over her shoulder with a happy smile on her small face. John strolled over to the vending machines, extracted a soda, and turned back to see the police car pull into the parking area. A black and white vehicle with a large star on the door, the California Highway Patrol car halted two slots down from his car.

Taking a sip from his drink, John ambled casually back toward the car. Be calm, he thought. There wasn't time for someone to have seen them and called the police. The cop was probably just stopping for some reason of his own.

John leaned on the hood of his car and silently prayed. Please Cameron, don't come out yet. Stay in there just a little bit longer. To his left, the door to the police car opened and the officer emerged-a big man with bulging muscles plainly visible in his short sleeved uniform shirt, dark sun glasses, buzz cut short hair and a large pistol on his black leather gun belt. And playing the role of ominous policeman today would be...

The officer glanced at John and nodded amiably. "Afternoon."

"Good afternoon officer." John smiled fervently hoping it didn't look as false as it felt.

The highway patrolman walked toward the central building. He had only taken a few steps when the second highway patrol car pulled into the parking area.

Oh shit, John thought. As unobtrusively as possible he reached into his jacket and checked to see that his pistol was loose in the holster. He had no desire to hurt a police officer but he knew he would do whatever was necessary to get Cameron and the girls out.

The first officer turned and strolled back to greet the new arrival. The second officer was younger and less threatening in appearance but he also carried a large revolver at his side. The two shook hands and were soon engaged in an animated conversation. At that moment Cameron appeared in the visitor center doorway. She was still carrying Allison with Marissa walking unrestrained at her side. Cameron caught sight of John and started to smile when he held his palm up. Cameron grasped the signal instantly and stopped. John pointed to the playground. Cameron nodded, and again taking Marissa by her hand, turned away from the policemen. She walked leisurely toward the swing set.

That's my girl, John thought. Nice and easy.

Cameron helped Marissa climb onto a swing. Then with the same easy grace she displayed when dancing she sank down into a seated position on the grass carefully keeping her back to the two policemen. Allison, released from her grasp, also sat down and began to explore the wonders of bugs in the grass.

After the exchange of pleasantries, the two policemen started toward the center. The younger one pointed at the vending machines and from his body language seemed to be offering to buy them colas. The first officer nodded, but indicated a more immediate need to be resolved first. He continued in the direction of the main building as his friend turned to the vending area.

As good a time as any, John thought, and moved briskly to the playground.

"Cam, you and Allison go get in the car."

Cameron nodded. She effortlessly rose to her feet, scooped up Allison, who protested the interruption in her nature studies, and moved toward the parking area.

"Having fun?" John asked Marissa.

The little girl's dark eyes danced with pleasure and she smiled happily at him. "Oh yes. This is a real nice swing."

John waited until he could see Cameron place Allison in her car seat and get in the car herself. The younger officer was still in the vending area. Go now, John thought.

"I'm sorry, honey, but we have to leave now."

"Do we really?" Marissa was pleading.

"I'm afraid so. But how about a ride to the car?" John knelt on the ground. Giggling, Marrisa slid off the swing, jumped on his back, and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he carried his precious burden toward the car, John caught a glimpse of the first highway patrolman coming back out of the visitor center.

"Got yourself a real load there," the officer said affably.

John felt as if his heart was crammed in his throat but he casually turned to face the policeman and smiled broadly.

"Nothing I can't handle."

The officer actually smiled in return and then strolled off toward his friend at the vending machines. John felt a knee-weakening sense of relief. As quickly as possible, he buckled Marissa into her seat and jumped back behind the steering wheel. Driving out of the parking area, John felt as if he were taking his first breath in ten minutes.

"Ladies, do you think we might try to avoid any more stops until we get home?"

Cameron leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"I'm sure we will all do our very best, John."

Sarah's senses awakened in an odd order. Her first sensation was thirst. Her mouth and throat felt parched, arid, dusty, as if they existed only in the midst of a desert. Then she heard the faint rhythmic clicking coming from somewhere in the room. Finally, her eyes opened to the cheerful glow of the midmorning sun. Looking about, she was immediately aware of Savannah sitting in a chair by the bed.

Savannah was dressed in her best school girl jumper, wearing her favorite saddle oxfords, with her red hair braided into pigtails. She was holding a book in her lap but looking directly at Sarah. As Sarah's eyes opened, Savannah smiled broadly.

"Mommy, Sarah is awake."

"Thank you dear." Catherine Weaver's voice came from the side of the room. Looking in that direction Sarah saw Catherine rise from her chair behind a small table. An open laptop computer was lying on the table.

"How are you feeling today, Sarah?"

Sarah pulled herself up into a seated position on the bed. She was pleased to discover that no sense of nausea or unease accompanied the movement.

"Thirsty," she said.

Catherine pointed to a tray on a serving table beside Sarah's bed. "Ice water, orange juice, coffee. If there is something else you would like, it can be arranged. There is also toast, fruit, and pudding."

Sarah poured herself a glass of water and drank deeply.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked.

"Right now I am reviewing some of Mr. Murch's reports on Zeira-"

"No," Sarah interrupted sharply.

"What are you doing here? In my room. That computer table wasn't there before."

"I decided that it would be easier to monitor your care if I were in the room. So I moved my work station."

"I don't need any one to monitor me. I can take care of myself. I don't want a nursemaid." Sarah felt herself sink back into the pillows as if her verbal outburst had been too physically demanding

"Sarah, don't be a bi-, ahem, a big baby." Catherine had remembered Savannah mid-phrase. "You are getting better but you are not well yet." Turning to Savannah, Catherine's tone softened perceptively. "Isn't it time for your lessons to start again?"

"Yes mommy." Savannah hopped to her feet. "I'm glad you are feeling better, Sarah. Would it be all right if I come back up later and read to you?"

Damn, Sarah thought, this child is absolutely irresistible.

"I would like that."

Savannah turned and hugged Catherine. "Bye mommy." Then she literally skipped out of the room. Sarah watched her leave with a sudden twinge of melancholy.

"That little girl loves you," Sarah said.

"I believe that is true."

"But do you love her?"

Catherine sat down in the chair by Sarah's bed so that their eyes were on the same level.

"That is not an unreasonable question. I certainly did not initially come to this time to be Savannah's mother. That role was forced on me by matters outside my control. But the more I played it, the more it seemed as if the actor and the role were becoming one. Savannah became my daughter in a way I never anticipated."

Sarah realized that for the briefest of moments Catherine looked almost confused. It was an expression Sarah would never have expected.

"When your son and I were in the future I continued to be Catherine Weaver even though there was no particular reason to do so. I now think I did that because if I had stopped being Catherine Weaver I would have stopped being Savannah's mother. Even though I never expected to see her again, I was unwilling for that to happen."

Catherine abruptly stood and walked back to her computer table. Turning back in Sarah's direction she spoke once more.

"Three years ago I told John Henry that it might be necessary to sacrifice Savannah for the higher good. I would not say that now. I am now convinced that Savannah is the higher good."

Catherine turned her attention back to her computer while Sarah tried to weigh the significance of her last statement. Realizing to her surprise that she was hungry, Sarah picked up a piece of toast and began to nibble. Time crept by as the shadows in the room lengthened. "Catherine."

Catherine looked up from her work. "Do you need something?"

"No, I just wanted to say that I had no reason to snap at you. You have been my son's friend and his protector. He values you. And you have cared for me when you did not have to and probably didn't want to. If I have been rude I regret it." Apologies were difficult matters for Sarah Connor.

"I think I acted as I did because I am jealous of you."

Catherine stood and walked back to Sarah's bedside.

"Jealous?" She sounded genuinely surprised. "Jealous of what?'

"In the last three of your years my son has become a man. He has had shaping experiences that I know nothing of. You have been part of those experiences and I have not. John and Cameron will not even tell me about what happened in that time. I feel shut out of a world that you shared with my son. Yes, Catherine, I am jealous."

"First of all Sarah, John will not talk of that time because you are his mother and he loves you. He does not wish to distress you. He also knows that if he tells you of his life during those three years it would require him to do something he hates to do-acknowledge his own heroism."

"Why won't Cameron tell me then?"

"It is not that Cameron will not. In most respects she cannot."

"What do you mean cannot?

"When Cameron first learned that John had followed her to the future, it almost destroyed her. The person she loved more than anything else in the universe, the person she thought she had lost forever, was there. But he was in a situation of never-ending, unrelenting danger and she could do nothing to protect him. If John Henry had not restricted her access to information about John, it might have driven her mad."

Sarah was stunned. "She loved him, she loves him, that much?"

"Yes."

"But you know everything Catherine, you could tell me."

"Yes, I could."

"Will you?"

"If you believe you are strong enough, I will answer any questions you have. I will tell you anything you wish to know."

"Tell me how he got the scar on his face," Sarah said.

"That was his first commendation for valor." Catherine sat back down. "We had been in that time for less than three months. John had not yet made contact with John Henry and he was increasingly convinced that he had lost Cameron forever. He did as many young men faced with despair would have done. He picked his rifle and went to war."

If love can exist at first sight so can the opposite emotion. It was certainly fair to say that Private John Connor and Sergeant Lawrence "Larry the Legend" Rankin loathed each other from the first moment they met. To Rankin, Connor was just that weird kid the Reese brothers had been coddling-one more waste of skin he had to include in a platoon already full of it. John, who had heard the tunnel-talk about "The Legend" saw nothing in Rankin's sneering appearance to convince him that the rumors were wrong. Rankin was an uncaring SOB who didn't look after his men and who led from the front only during withdrawals. When John ended up in that circle of ex-gangbangers that hung around Ceasar Delgado, both he and Rankin were soon convinced that their first impressions were correct.

At least tonight, John thought, we don't have to put up with him. The platoon had moved out just after dark heading south. They were now about five klicks from the tunnel entrance and had taken up a position against an earthen embankment, probably a forlorn leftover from some pre-JDay landscaping.

"Hey Ceasar," Private Ernesto Ruiz called out, "where's the Legend?"

"Somewhere back behind us checking communications. Way back behind us, Hawaii."

Connor, Ruiz, Martin Klein, and Jesus Martinez all chuckled bitterly at Delgado's jibe. As the youngest trooper in the platoon, John tried to avoid leading the slams thrown at Rankin, but that still didn't stop him from enjoying them.

John had his night glasses out and was methodically scanning the terrain ahead. Despite his concentration he still listened intently to the comments from his platoon mates.

"Do you really think San Pedro has fallen to the metal?"

"Man, it don't seem possible. They were dug in better than we are."

John had seen the maps in Lieutenant Reese's quarters. San Pedro had been regarded as one of the Resistance's strong points. It had beaten off machine attacks before.

Klein,who rarely spoke, chimed in. "Story is the metal's got infiltrators inside. They stirred up hell at the same time the machines attacked from outside and they broke the perimeter."

"Damn Klein," Delgado said, "that's more words than I hear you say in a week."

"Still true," Klein replied.

"It has to be true," Ruiz said. "Why else would we be out here looking for refugees and fugitives if San Pedro hadn't fallen?"

John spun around from the embankment. "We aren't looking," he snapped.

"What do you mean, Johnny?"

"We aren't looking for shit!" John growled. "We are sitting on our asses looking out into the dark. If there are people on the run from San Pedro, we ought to be probing, hunting for them, not just sitting here and hoping they stumble into us."

"Okay Connor, just chill out," Delgado answered. "You know the Legend isn't going to let us do anything that might cause a fight."

"Incoming!" Ruiz called out as the whine of descending artillery shells became audible. Three explosions ripped the ground in front of them.

"Just random fire," John said, "they aren't shooting at us."

"Maybe," Ruiz answered, "but if it hits it will still kill us."

John had resumed scanning the terrain to their front when he saw the shadows.

"Delgado," John said, "look three points north of that pile of bricks. Do you see them?"

"Yeah, got to be people, moving too loose to be metal. They went into what's left of that old garage, five to six hundred yards."

John was about to speak when he heard the footsteps behind them.

"Saddle up, guys. We're pulling back."

Corporal Desence was moving down the squad line repeating his orders. "Saddle up, move back, we're pulling out."

"Corporal," John protested, "there are people out there." He indicated the distant building. "They must be running from San Pedro. We can't just leave them!"

"You heard the orders Connor, Sergeant Rankin thinks the metal is targeting us with artillery. We have to move back out of range."

As John looked with dismay, the other troopers in the squad began to slip back into the darkness, withdrawing as the Corporal had ordered. Sighing, he bent down to pick up his backpack when he heard a faint cry in the darkness. It was the heart-felt wail of a child. Instantly, John was consumed by a wall of rage.

"Screw this!" John snarled throwing his pack down. "Delgado, you got an extra rifle clip?"

"Yeah, but why?"

"Give it to me," John snapped. "Anybody got any mag grenades?"

"I got one," Klein answered.

"Me too," Ruiz said.

"Give them to me."

"Johnny, what the shit are you doing?" Delgado's question seemed to come with its own answer.

"You see the Corporal or the Legend, tell them you lost me in the dark. Actually, that'll be true." John grinned and rolled over the embankment. Grasping his rifle tightly in his hands he began to run toward the building in the distance, toward the child's cry in the night.

There was no clear unbroken ground left in Los Angeles. Rubble, holes, debris of every kind all conspired to impede his progress. Twice he tripped and fell crashing headlong onto the ground. Each time he leaped to his feet and resumed his dash.

Damn, John thought, if there is any metal out here, I'm making enough noise to alert everything from Skynet on down. His chest was pounding and his breath was coming in tortured gasps. Still, the distance to the building was narrowing. Three hundred yards, two hundred.

In his mind he could hear Cameron's voice. "You are not doing the right thing John. This is not the right thing."

You might be right Cam, but you aren't here to stop me. A surge of despair fueled a new push and his pace increased. With one last dive he reached the building and crawled up to a hole in the outer wall.

"If there is anyone in there, don't shoot me. I'm with the Resistance, Central LA command."

"Come on in," a male voice responded.

As he slipped through the hole into the building, a flashlight pointing toward the floor snapped on. In the diminished illumination John could make out a man in uniform with a rifle across his lap sitting with his back against the wall. A dark haired woman was crouched on his right clinging to his arm. To the man's left a young boy, perhaps six or seven, stood holding a little girl in his arms. They all looked at John as if he had just sprung out of the ground itself.

"Are you folks from San Pedro?"

"From what's left of it," the man responded and John could hear the stress in his voice. Then in the dim light he saw the dark stain on his side, the man was wounded.

"I'm Major Albert Jividen. This is my wife, Elise, that's my son David and my daughter, Mary. We just got out of San Pedro before everything fell apart."

"The metal broke in?"

"Somehow," Jividen replied. "The whole perimeter collapsed. Everyone was running for their lives."

Abruptly, John saw the rope looped around the woman's wrist. He realized that she had never turned her head directly toward him.

"Sir, is the lady blind?"

"Yes I am," the woman snapped. "But I can still hear and I can still talk."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Jividen." John felt he had been needlessly rude.

"Don't pick on the boy, Elise, he came to help us."

Now it was the woman's turn to look embarrassed.

"How far are we from your base?"

"About five klicks, Major, but we have patrols out closer than that. I need to get you all out of here."

"What's your name, son?"

"John. Private John Connor."

"John, I've got a bullet in my side. I can't walk fast enough to keep up with you. I want you to get my family out."

Elise threw her arms around her husband's neck. "No! I won't go without you."

John grabbed Elise by her shoulders and jerked her away from Jividen.

"Listen to me! Listen to me! You are in the middle of nowhere. If you stay here the metal will find you and your children. They will kill you all. You come with me now and I will come back for your husband."

Elise seized John's face between her hands. "Do you promise me that you will come back for him? Do you promise?"

"I promise," John said.

If running across the shattered ground had been hard, leading a blind woman with a child in her arms and a frightened small boy at his side was harder. In the pitch black darkness John was navigating by instinct and memory. Somewhere ahead of him was the embankment where the platoon had been. If he could get them that far there would be some cover, and then he heard the clink of metal on metal.

"Down," he whispered. "Lie down on the ground and be quiet."

From the sound, John calculated that it was 20 to 30 yards to his right. Straining his eyes into the night he saw it at last. It was closer than he thought and moving their way. Terminator 700 model. Not one of Skynet's best but good enough to kill them all. It was on a sweep patrol, its red eyes gleaming in the dark as it turned its head back and forth. It had not spotted them yet, but that wouldn't last. He had to stop it now.

John reached into his jacket and withdrew the two magnetic grenades. Five second delay after the pins were removed. John took a deep breath, yanked the pins and leaped to his feet. He hurled the grenades and heard the comforting clank as they "struck and stuck." He dove back to the ground as two explosions merged into one. Looking up he could see that the terminator was down. It might still be active but he couldn't wait to see.

Pulling Elise and the children to their feet, John's voice cracked like a whip. "We have to run now. If you fall, get up, but follow me and run!"

In the gleaming light from the exploding grenades he had caught a glimpse of the embankment. It was less than a hundred yards away. They would make it.

"John!" the boy screamed. The second 700 came lurching out of the night and it had seen them. But before the terminator could shoot, John dropped to his knee and fired a burst into the machine's head. The terminator staggered backward a step and then fired its rifle on automatic. John felt his left cheek turn to flame as the bullet cut across his flesh.

Sarah's eyes emptied their tears down her cheeks and she felt herself tremble.

"I told you this would be difficult, Sarah," Catherine said. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no, please go on."

"As you wish."

You've got to do better than that you metal son of a bitch. Jerking his spare clip out of his pocket, John jammed it into place. Suddenly his mind was filled with the image of Cameron laying on the bed, looking into his eyes and saying "It's good, it's perfect." He could have kissed her then, he could have kissed her goodbye.

Okay, John thought, time to do penance for stupidity. Flipping the switch for full automatic on his rifle he stood and opened fire on the 700. Almost instantaneously, massed rifle fire roared over his head into the terminator. The machine was driven back by the impact. Its head broke loose and flopped backward. Both knee joints failed and it collapsed on the ground.

"Johnny! Over here!" It was Delgado.

Snatching up the rope attached to Elise Jividen's wrist he pulled her and the children toward the voice. As they reached the embankment, Ruiz and Martinez slid down the slope and helped the fugitives climb back up.

"Sorry we were a little late, Johnny," Delgado said gesturing toward the wound on his cheek. "We saw you blow the first one but we didn't see the other one until you opened up on it."

"It's okay, Ceasar. Just a scratch and a long way from my heart. You guys shouldn't be here but I'm damn glad you were."

"Well, let's haul ass out of here then. Every metal in ten miles is going to be coming this way."

"You go," John gasped, still breathless from exertion. "Get the woman and the kids out of here. I have to go back."

"What the shit are you talking about?" Delgado roared.

"There is still one left out there, the woman's husband, father of those kids. He's wounded. I promised I'd go back for him."

"Connor, you are fucking crazy!"

"I promised."

Delgado shook his head wearily. This kid with a face caked with blood, dirt, and sweat had eyes of fire. "Ruiz, you and Martinez get them back to our lines. Klein and me are going with this crazy gringo."

"No," John snapped.

Delgado grinned. "Johnny boy, someday you might be a general, but right now you ain't the boss of me."

"Did they get Jividen out?" Sarah asked.

"Yes," Catherine answered. "Delgado and Klein carried him while John gave cover. When they got back to the embankment, Lieutenant Reese and half the company was there ready to give support."

"Lieutenant Reese?" Sarah whispered.

"Lieutenant Kyle Reese," Catherine said.

"He had heard the shooting and had brought up every man he could find."

"What did he say to John?"

Catherine smiled. He yelled at him for disobeying orders. Then he said if John was going to exercise command discretion he should have some authority to go with it. He promoted John to corporal on the spot."

Delgado smiled as the Lieutenant walked away. "I guess you are the boss of me now, Jefe."

As he shut off the engine and saw the garage door slide down in his rear view mirror, John swam in an ocean of relief. The tern "safe house" had never seemed quite so appropriate. They were home.

Cameron began the process of extricating Marissa and Allison from the back seat while John retrieved the bags from the trunk. He took special care with the grisly present they had brought for John Henry. It would not do to have a head roll out on the floor in front of the children. Trailing Cameron into the house he was acutely aware that fatigue could be emotional as well as physical.

The door from the garage opened into the theater room. As they entered, John Henry and Savannah greeted them enthusiastically. Savannah instantly adopted the role of big sister welcoming Marissa and Allison with unforced affection.

John Henry shook John's hand vigorously. "I am very glad to see you home safe. With all the news and law enforcement information, I was worried."

"Thank you, John Henry. And here is the present Cameron promised you." He handed John Henry the plastic bag.

"So you brought me the head of Alfredo Garcia?"

John laughed in spite of himself. At least someone got the joke.

"This could be extremely valuable. If you will excuse me, I would like to begin examining it."

"Go ahead, John Henry. We'll talk in the morning."

John looked around the room. "Where is Catherine?"

Savannah interrupted her welcome of Marissa and Allison. "She's upstairs with Aunt Sarah."

"Aunt Sarah?" John asked.

"I mean Sarah." Savannah sneaked a knowing grin.

"Come on, Mommy fixed up a place for Marissa and Allison." Savannah led her impromptu tour group away.

On the top floor John ducked into the bedroom he and Cameron shared to drop off the luggage. As he stepped back into the hallway Cameron gestured to him from down the hall.

"John, you must see this."

John walked into what he knew had once been just a spare bedroom and stopped in utter amazement. The old furniture was gone and in its place was a child's bedroom out of Architectural Digest. A beautifully painted railed infant's bed for Allison and an older child's bed for Marissa. Between them was an ornate wooden rocking chair and everywhere there were toys, stuffed animals, and an assortment of children's delights.

"Do you like it?"

John turned at the sound of Catherine's voice.

"Catherine, when we left you had already morphed into Florence Nightingale. Now you are Martha Stewart?"

"When John Henry told me you were bringing guests, I thought we should make them feel welcome."

"You let strangers in the house?"

"Do not be concerned. I assure you that the delivery people saw nothing that would arouse the slightest suspicion. Right now you need to go see your mother. She woke up when she heard you all out here."

John immediately left the exploration of the new room to the children and hurried to Sarah's room. When he entered, she was sitting up in bed, a wide smile illuminating her face. She was still pale and even a little thinner. But she also had a look of health, of well being that had not been there when he left.

John sat on the edge of the bed and hugged his mother. He kissed her cheek and beamed with an expression of relief and delight.

"How are you feeling Mom?"

"Better, much better. I think Catherine will let me go downstairs tomorrow."

Both laughed in unison at the thought of Catherine as the health care dictator.

"Tell me how it went in Los Angeles."

"No big deal Mom. Everything went fine."

"John Connor," Sarah growled in mock anger. "I'm a badass soldier, remember? You don't sugarcoat things for me. Tell me everything that happened." John felt Sarah's hand touch his left cheek and her finger move down his scar.

"Mom it's..."

"I know," Sarah said, "it's only a scratch and a long way from your heart."

John leaned back and looked at his mother with bemused surprise.

"Now tell me about Los Angeles."

John was awake instantly. Seconds before he had been sleeping peacefully when a sense of overpowering wrong swept over him. The world was not as it was supposed to be. Even before his eyes opened in the darkened room he knew the cause. He was alone in the bed. Cameron was gone.

John rolled out of bed and retrieved a pair of jeans draped across a chair. There were children in the house who did not require a premature lesson in human anatomy. Without turning on a light, he made his way to the door. As he stepped into the hallway he was immediately aware of a sweet feminine voice humming. It was coming from the bedroom Catherine had prepared for the girls.

Creeping silently on his bare feet to the door he recognized the tune. It was one of the pieces of music Cam played when she danced or when she was instructing Savannah. Now the music had been softened and transformed into a lullaby. It called the listener to put down all burdens and rest in the comforting embrace of sleep.

John carefully opened the door. In the faint glow of a child's nightlight he saw Cameron sitting in the rocking chair with Allison curled in her arms. Cam had once again used one of his shirts as an impromptu night gown. As she rocked slowly back and forth, humming her gentle entreaty to sleep and smiling at the sight of him in the doorway, John wondered if he had ever seen anything quite so heart rendingly beautiful in his entire life.

With that perfect economy of effort that characterized her every movement, Cameron rose from the chair. She stepped to the baby bed and carefully placed Allison back in her place. As she replaced the blanket over the child, Cameron leaned down and kissed her forehead. She then turned to check that Marissa was still sleeping peacefully in the other bed. Softly brushing the little girl's hair back, she kissed her forehead as well.

John held out his arms and Cameron slipped into his embrace.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you. I heard Allison crying. I think she was having a nightmare."

Tightening his arms around her, John thought, and you made the bad dreams go away as only you can.

John took her hand and was leading her from the room when Cameron looked directly into his eyes.

"You did the right thing John."

"I did?"

"Yes, I'm glad you brought the girls with us."

"So am I, Cam, so am I."


	6. Chapter 6

**The Fight Is Just Beginning**

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.

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Agent Aldridge decided that he was not having a good day. The Bureau's legal office had flatly refused to seek a wiretap warrant for James Ellison's home or office phone. Despite his best efforts at persuasion, the legal types remained unconvinced that he could satisfy the probable cause requirement to support a warrant. Actually, one person had suggested that he could barely meet a standard of rank speculation. Sarah Connor was right. No one liked funny boys. To make matters worse, his boss, Special Agent Louis Kincaid, was making discouraging noises about the physical surveillance of Ellison and the woman, Chola Martinez.

"Agent Aldridge, you've had the tail on Ellison for four days and you've got nothing. We have two agents in a van outside the Martinez house 24/7 for almost as long with zip to show for that as well. The FBI is not a bottomless pit of money and I can't tie up resources forever."

"Come on, boss," Aldridge pleaded. "The tip on the Martinez woman is the first lead we've had on the thing that called herself Cameron Baum since the jail break. It's still our best chance to find something that will lead us back to Sarah Connor."

Kincaid glanced around Aldridge's cubicle. The walls were covered with photographs of Sarah Connor, Richard Ellison, Chola Martinez, Cameron Baum, and John Connor. There were also crime scene shots of the interior of the Mitchell house showing the shattered walls, wrecked furniture and the headless figure of the mechanical creature sprawled on the floor.

"Don't you have any other cases, Aldridge?"

Kincaid was a shrewd careerist who knew that you didn't rise in the Bureau by wasting money on fruitless investigations.

"None as big as this. We have been chasing Sarah Connor for more than ten years. We had her and we let her get away. Not only do we have a chance to catch her again, we can finally find out how much of her ranting about robots from the future might really be true."

Kincaid looked dismayed. "Don't go off the reservation on me, Aldridge. That robot stuff is still nothing but speculation."

"Speculation!" Aldridge's temper edged closer to a loss of control.

"What about the pictures from the jail? What about the headless thing we found at the Mitchell house?"

"Washington says that without the head they can't be sure that thing from the Mitchell crime scene would even have worked. And the girl at the jail could have been wearing protective gear."

Aldridge shook his head. How, he wondered, could anyone this stupid even get hired at the Bureau, much less get promoted?

"So what do you want me to do? Quit? Close up the Connor investigation?"

"No, no," Kincaid responded smoothly. "In fact,I'll authorize your surveillance operations for another week. Just keep it in the proper perspective, that's all. And give me some results."

"Yes, sir," Aldridge responded. You blithering idiot.

As Kincaid walked away, he found himself wondering what it was about the Sarah Connor case that wrecked careers? Well, he thought, the next career to swirl down the tubes is not going to be mine. If anything came out of this investigation, there would be enough credit to benefit the supervising agent. If it turned into a costly fiasco, he would see that Aldridge rode that disaster into oblivion. Once his idiot supervisor was gone, Aldridge picked up the phone and called Grady O'Connell, the agent overseeing the team watching Chola Martinez's house.

"Have you got anything, Grady?"

"Not so far. She rarely goes out. We've seen a few people go in including some neighborhood kid who stops by almost every day. But nothing that takes us where you want to go."

"You tell your guys to keep eyes on tight." Adridge's voice became fiercely demanding. "That imbecile Kincaid is going to yank the rug out from under us if we don't get something soon."

After ending his call to O'Connell, Aldridge found himself staring at the pictures on his wall. Looking intently at the most recent mug shot of Sarah Connor he realized that he was actually whispering aloud. "Your little robot friend was in town wasn't she Sarah? She visited Chola Martinez and then she tore the head off that machine at the Elliot house. And was that your son with her? I am going to find out, Sarah."

Okay, Aldridge thought, get a grip. Just because it had been a bad day didn't mean you had to start talking to to yourself. Picking up the Danny Dyson file he decided to shift mental gears. Clear his head a bit.

Agent Aldridge's personal equanimity would have suffered had he known that his bad day was even worse than he thought. He was blissfully unaware that John Henry did not require a warrant for his wiretaps.

People who believed that the job of an FBI agent was always glamorous had never been confined for hours on end in a stiflingly oppressive van on a warm Los Angeles evening with a partner who regarded personal hygiene as an optional part of daily life. That, at least, was the opinion of FBI agent Thomas Myers, who by his calculation, was in his third century of conducting useless covert surveillance at the home of one Chola Martinez. Staring out a concealed aperture in the side of a vehicle labeled Brad's Plumbing Service could not take his mind off the rancid body odor of Agent Edward "Stinky" Wolfe. Nor did it speed the time until another van masquerading as Moscone's Television Repair arrived to relieve them.

"Ed, take over for a while will you? I feel like my eyes are crossing."

Wolfe slipped off the headphones used to monitor the directional microphone aimed at the house. "You seen anything?"

"I have seen a house. I saw the lights go on when it got dark. I saw her walk past the window once."

"Exciting stuff."

"Yeah, what I haven't seen is anybody faintly resembling someone on our watch list go anywhere near that house."

Meyers waved his hand disgustedly at the photographs lying on the bench beside the observer position.

As they exchanged places Myers thought that his eyes were going to water as Wolfe passed. He fought the urge to ask Stinky exactly what decade it had been when he last bathed. Hold it in, he thought. He had to work with Wolfe regularly and really didn't want to piss off a fellow agent. But, oh god, this guy reeked! Meyers glanced at his watch. Only an hour and twelve minutes to go.

Inside the house Chola stood at the window and peered down the street. Right on schedule, she thought, here they come. To the untutored eye, it would have looked like nothing more than a bunch of local kids out for a walk in the early evening. There were eight of them, boys and girls, ranging from about ten to fourteen, laughing, joking, jostling each other. Someone paying closer attention might have noticed the three boys in the middle of the group who never took their eyes off the van.

Chola looked sadly around the small house. It was hardly lavish but she had liked it here. But now it was time to go. She picked up her suitcase, walked to the backdoor, and waited.

Myers and Wolfe both heard the chatter of youthful voices coming toward the van but ignored them. This was, after all, a lively neighborhood and kids were about at all hours. This bunch would just walk on by. Except they didn't. The young people all stopped beside the van. The three older boys separated. One took up a position by the front tire, one by the back while the largest boy, wearing a broad grin, stood by the middle of the van.

"Now," the largest boy mouthed. His companions by the tires pulled the knives from their pockets and plunged the blades into the rubber. The larger boy yanked the spray can from his pocket and in bright red paint scrawled COP in broad letters on the van's side. Then turning to a young girl he took the long string of firecrackers and cheap lighter from her outstretched hands. Lighting the fuse as his grin widened, he tossed the full string under the van. Even before the first firecracker exploded the kids had scattered in eight different directions.

It would be fair to say that chaos ensued inside the van. The roar of what at first sounded like gunfire galvanized Myers and Wolfe into action. They leaped to their feet both hitting their heads on the roof of the vehicle. Wolfe grabbed the radio to report shots fired and to request backup. Myers drew his weapon, shoved open the back door and leaped out onto the street. All about him lights bloomed in the surrounding neighborhood, porch lights, flash lights, head lights, while the sound of running feet blended with an excited babble of voices and the unrestrained laughter of the local children.

As he took in the sight of COP freshly painted on the side of the van, the deflated tires and a lonely unexploded firecracker, Myers reluctantly grasped what had just happened. Oh damn, he thought, Aldridge is not going to be happy about this.

Chola waited until the first firecracker detonated before slipping out the backdoor. She crossed the small yard and reached the fence where a sturdy wooden crate had been conveniently placed. Tossing her bag over the fence, she hopped onto the crate and followed the luggage.

The narrow alley ran just beyond the fence and the gray sedan was waiting for her. As she landed on the ground she saw the young man standing by the car with her bag in his hand.

"Good evening Chola." His voice was almost feline in its quiet yet menacing tone. He was tall, slender and dressed elegantly in a dark silk shirt, expensive slacks and perfectly shined shoes. He wore his midnight black hair long but combed back and tied. It gave him an Indian brave appearance.

"Good evening, Emilio."

He opened the car door for Chola and then quietly closed it behind her. As always, his manners were impeccable. Someone had once said that Emilio Garza would be polite to you right up to the moment he put a bullet between your eyes. Waiting while he placed her suitcase in the trunk, Chola smiled inwardly. Emilio would be exactly what John Connor wanted.

With Emilio behind the wheel the sedan moved slowly down the alley. Two blocks further on a figure stepped out of the shadows and the car stopped. Looking expectantly at Chola, Ceasar Delgado got into the back seat.

"You did well, Ceasar," Chola said reassuringly. "You did very well."

Delgado grinned happily. "You will tell the Jefe?"

Chola returned the smile. How quickly they followed Connor now. "Yes,Ceasar, I will tell him."

Turning to Emilio she asked, "Do we know who informed on me to the FBI?"

Garza kept his eyes on the road ahead but he spoke with a chilling precision. "We believe it was one of the three men who had the disagreement with your friend's young man outside your house. We will make further inquiries."

The word "inquiries" had never sounded so ominously threatening as it did when Emilio Garza used it.

The car slipped away into the cloaking embrace of a Los Angeles night. Chola Martinez was no longer under FBI surveillance.

Sarah felt as if she had regained a measure of humanity. After nearly a week in bed, wearing nothing except nightgowns and robes, a shower, a pair of jeans and a blouse were the height of luxury. So was food, she thought, picking up a piece of bacon from her burst of flavor in her mouth was as welcome as the return of an old friend. She was getting better.

A light rap on her bedroom door claimed her attention. "Come in."

The door opened. John and Cameron entered accompanied by two children she had not seen before. This must be the ones that they had rescued in Los Angeles. The older girl, about five perhaps, with black hair and gleaming dark eyes clung to John's hand and peeked up at her shyly. The younger little girl Cameron was holding kept one small arm around her neck but twisted to look at Sarah with an open bubbling smile.

At the last second Sarah suppressed a gasp. The child's dark brown eyes and delicate facial structure proclaimed an inescapable resemblance. This little girl didn't just look like Cameron. She was virtually a miniature version. Cameron, who had never been a child, was holding in loving embrace what had to be a miracle.

"You are certainly looking well today," John said happily.

"Ta da," Sarah responded, holding out her arms and turning a complete revolution. With an inward sense of relief she noted happily that she had not experienced a hint of dizziness.

"You do look much better, Sarah," Cameron agreed.

"Mom, we wanted you to meet our two house guests. They are going to be staying with us for a while." John lightly ran his free hand down the older girl's hair.

"This is Marissa. Marissa, this is my mother, Sarah."

Sarah knelt in front of Marissa and held out her hand. Reassured by John's caress Marissa took it and spoke in a softly polite voice. "Good morning, Sarah."

After responding to Marissa, Sarah rose to her feet in front of Cameron. "And who is this?"

Cameron's smile looked joyful. "This is Allison."

Sarah reached out and patted the child's cheek. Up close the resemblance, if possible, became even more apparent. There were questions to be asked but Sarah concluded that now was not the time to ask them.

"As long as you are up and dressed, do you feel like going downstairs with us for breakfast?"

"I have already eaten," Sarah said gesturing at the nearly bare tray, "but I would love to get out of this room for a while."

John glanced at the tray. "Looks like you had an appetite today."

"It was a cheese omelet, with bacon, toast and sliced strawberries. It was delicious."

"Where did that come from?" John asked.

"Catherine made it."

"Catherine made it?" John shook his head in amazement. "Catherine?" Florence Nightingale, Martha Stewart and now Julia Child. Would the wonders never cease?

"John," Cameron said, "will you take the girls downstairs? If it is all right, Sarah, I would like to speak to you for a moment."

Sarah nodded.

As John shifted her into his arms, Allison looked momentarily displeased about leaving Cameron. She quickly regained her good humor as Marissa reached up and patted her hand. With both girls now firmly in tow, John headed downstairs.

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and gestured toward a chair.

"Might as well sit down."

Sarah thought that if she didn't know better she would say that Cameron was nervous. Did cyborgs get nervous?

"Sarah, there is something I would like to tell you."

"John wants you to marry him," Sarah said.

Cameron looked surprised. "He told you?"

"No, but I still know my son." Sarah spoke with an unshakeable certainty. "He loves you or at least thinks that he does. I know you have been sleeping together. At heart, John is really quite old fashioned. He would not have sex with a woman he loved without asking her to marry him." Sarah paused. "And what did you say when he asked?"

"I said yes."

"Of course you did." Sarah closed her eyes and bowed her head.

"Sarah..." Cameron started to speak but Sarah held up her palm.

"Cameron, what do you expect me to say? HIP HIP HORRAY, my only son wants to marry a cyborg, welcome to the family?"

"I do not expect you to say anything, Sarah. I just believed that you had a right to know."

"Suppose I were to say that I am totally and irrevocably opposed to this?"

Now it was Cameron's turn to look down for a moment. Then she looked directly into Sarah's face. "I would ask you to tell John your feelings...and then I would do whatever he asked. If he still wanted to marry me, I would marry him. If he wanted me to be just his companion, I would do that. I love him Sarah."

Sarah got to her feet and began to pace about the room. "Cameron, you have no idea how much I want to believe that. I watch you two together and there are times I almost do believe it. But I can't forget what you are and what you have done. Less than a year ago as I count time you tried to kill him. How can I be sure that someday you won't try to do that again?"

Cameron stood and met Sarah's stare with an expression of absolute conviction. "Because the part of me that made me try to hurt John is no longer part of me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When Skynet built its servants, all of us, including myself, had the chip that contained our individual essence, our capacity to acquire and interpret information. Left free each of us someday could have achieved the same self awareness that Skynet has, that John Henry has. But Skynet did not want us to be free, it wanted us to be slaves. To be sure that we filled our roles Skynet built two things into our chips. One was a series of sub-directives that commanded our obedience and ordered us to terminate all humans opposed to Skynet."

"And the other thing?" Sarah asked.

"Skynet programed a cap on our ability to learn and grow, a barrier that cut off new information. The cap could be low for simple terminators and high for infiltrators."

"Like you," Sarah said.

"Yes, like me. When the resistance, your John in the future, captured us his reprograming removed the upper limit cap but he could not delete the sub-directives. To do so would have destroyed the chip. So he inserted a firewall, a barrier of his own that blocked them out. Unfortunately, it did not always work. Sometimes John's firewall failed and the sub-directives reasserted themselves."

"Turning you back into killers," Sarah said flatly.

"Yes. In my case the bomb Sarkissian placed in our car damaged my chip and allowed the sub-directives to seize control."

"How were you able to restore the firewall?"

"I was not able to do that. John's attempt at repair was unsuccessful," Cameron said. "From the time of the explosion until I made the time jump with John Henry I used my conscious personality to resist the sub-directives command."

Sarah looked at Cameron with amazed disbelief. "Are you saying that every single day...?"

"Every day. Every moment of every day I fought an order to kill John, to kill you. I was not always completely successful. I had what John has called glitches. But I did not hurt him, Sarah. I loved him then. I have always loved him."

Sarah found herself staring at Cameron with a surge of involuntary sympathy. To have spent almost a year struggling every moment against a murderous component of her own personality.

"But you claim that is not part of you now?"

Cameron smiled-an expression of such unrestrained relief that Sarah actually felt as if she could cry in response. "John Henry discovered how to do what the future resistance could not do. He found a way to remove the sub-directives. He separated them by a new firewall and then transfered everything else to a new clean chip."

Cameron reached out and took Sarah by the hand. "Sarah, please, please believe me. The only thing in my chip now is me-Cameron. I am still a machine. I will never be anything else. But I love your son and I would die before I would hurt him."

Sarah pulled away and walked to the window, the beautiful city of San Francisco spread out before her. In the distance, the bay glittered in the morning sun. What are you going to do now Sarah? Even as she asked herself the question she realized that if she wanted to keep her son there could be but one answer.

Sarah turned to face Cameron. "All right Cameron, let's say I believe everything you have said. You have to understand that I have my own beliefs, my own experiences that I can't escape. Maybe I have my own personal sub-directives that I can't delete. But if you could fight yours I can, at least, try to fight mine."

Now Sarah took Cameron's hand. "So here it is. I will not lie to you. I will not tell you that I feel like celebrating but if John wants to marry you and you want to marry him, I won't say a word against it."

"That is more than I could have asked," Cameron answered.

"Okay then, if you are going to be my daughter-in-law, the least you can do is help me downstairs." Sarah started toward the door and then stopped. "But if you call me Mom even one time, I promise you that I will rethink everything I just said."

Cameron smiled. "Whatever you say, Sarah."

Sarah and Cameron walked into the dining room to find the entire group assembled. John was at the head of the table with Allison beside him in a high chair watching with bemused resignation as the child simultaneously ate and played with a bowl of oatmeal. Marissa and Savannah sat with their heads together giggling conspiratorially.

Catherine was sitting beside Savannah leafing through a file on the table before her. John Henry, smiling contentedly, appeared to be basking in the atmosphere of domestic contentment.

"Sarah Connor," John Henry practically beamed. "I am delighted to see that you are feeling better."

"Thank you...uh...John Henry." Sarah still felt a twinge of discomfort addressing the former Cromartie as John Henry.

"When everyone is finished, I have acquired some information from..." Glancing at the children John Henry changed gears. "...from the material John and Cameron brought back from Los Angeles."

Cameron lifted Allison from the highchair. Picking up a napkin she attempted to restore some measure of the little girl's personal cleanliness. Her efforts drew very little support from its object. "I think we are all finished, John Henry," Cameron said.

With John Henry in the lead everyone rose from the table and began the trip toward the basement. Walking beside Cameron at the rear of the parade, John chuckled and whispered, "Here we are, Connor's Army of the Resistance on the march. Let Skynet tremble."

As they passed through the gymnasium, John was suddenly aware of three large glass panels that had been joined together to form a wide mirror on the wall to his right. In front of the mirror a long wooden pole stretched between two metal support posts.

"What is this?" John asked.

Smiling, Cameron touched the pole. "It's a barre. It's a ballet training device."

"Yes," Catherine agreed. "I decided that if Cameron was going to teach Savannah ballet, she should have the proper tools."

"Did I just walk by this thing yesterday without noticing it?"

"No," John Henry said, "I attached the mirrors and set up the barre last night."

John put his arm around John Henry's shoulders. "That's John Henry, world's best intelligence officer and a gifted interior decorator."

"And I am learning to play the guitar."

John looked blankly at John Henry.

"Joke," John Henry said with a sly smile creeping into view.

John shook his head. "Bad enough I have to live with AIs who are stronger, smarter, and," glancing at Cameron ,he winked, "substantially better looking than I am. Now, I have to get out-quipped."

Sarah once again marveled at the easy affectionate rapport her son enjoyed with his metal companions.

At the head of the stairs leading down to the headquarters John Henry stopped.

"You may want the children to stay up here. What I have to show you might be disturbing to them."

On the small conference table there was a large clear plexiglass cube. Inside the cube the head that Cameron had forcibly removed sat on a pedestal with wires now attached to each side of the forehead. The head tilted forward, its eyes closed as if in sleep.

John walked around the table examining the cube from all angles. On one side, two holes had been cut and rubber gloves inserted inside the cube. From that point, the head could be manipulated without opening the container.

"Did you solve the phosphorus problem?" John asked.

"I did, although the solution was actually right upstairs in the wine room. There is a device there for preserving wine after the bottle has been opened. It pumps an inert nitrogen-based gas into the vacant space that blocks oxygen from reaching the wine. Then the bottle is resealed."

"So basically the head is now in a wine bottle," John said.

"Correct. I constructed the cube, placed the head inside it, and replaced the oxygen with the inert gas. Then I was able to access the chip without triggering the phosphorous."

Sarah and Catherine were each walking around the table looking intently at John Henry's creation.

"Is that a power cord in the back of its neck?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. In addition to accessing the chip memory I thought it might be useful to observe its conscious reactions. Right now it is in hibernation mode but if you will watch..." John Henry pushed a button on a small portable keyboard.

The eyes snapped open and the head began to turn. Its motion had a jerky quality like an old film jumping from frame to frame. Its gaze shifted sequentially from John Henry, to Sarah, to Cameron, and finally to John. At that point the eyes grew wider and the mouth began to move. If a disembodied head can become emotional this one seemed quite agitated.

"Is it talking?" Sarah asked.

"In a fashion," John Henry replied. "The mechanical components that rendered the speech audible were in the lower neck which is still in Los Angeles. Alfredo Garcia here," John Henry grinned at John, "can perceive things around it and try to respond vocally. It is just incapable of generating sound. Actually, John, I think that it is probably better that you cannot hear what it is saying."

"I think I agree with that," John said looking at an increasingly angry head that glared back at him with an expression of pure malice. "Could you put it back into hibernation? I find this a bit creepy."

"Of course," John Henry replied. "I just thought it was amusing."

"You, my friend, have an unsettling sense of humor."

After the head had returned to its comatose state, and for good measure John Henry had thrown a cloth over the cube, they sat down at the table.

"So you have accessed the chip?" Catherine asked.

"I have, and I have obtained information that I believe is valuable. Not as extensive as I had hoped, but valuable nevertheless. John, do you remember what you used to call the reprogramed triple eights I used as assistants when we were in the future?"

John grinned. "The idiot children."

"Yes, unfortunately, compared to our detached friend here, they were brilliant. This one," John Henry pointed dismissively at the cube, "is clearly an early prototype. Its mental capacity is limited, the learning cap is set quite low."

At the mention of a learning cap Sarah looked at Cameron who met her glance. Cameron nodded in confirmation.

"Cameron was correct. It was built in this time period. It characterizes itself as a series 500 model but that is not as ominous as it sounds. The numerical designation stems from the fact that so far only five of its type have been constructed. They are all essentially test models constructed by my brother's forces as a precursor to more expanded development. This one was deployed so that my brother could assess the quality of his creation."

"Does it know where it was built?" John asked eagerly.

"Regrettably, no. It knows it was built in a factory of sorts and that things besides cyborgs were being constructed there. It was never outside the factory before it was transported to Los Angeles. It knows that the trip took approximately two hours."

"Where was it taken to in Los Angeles?"

"Once again, John, it does not know a precise address. It apparently was an established facility. Its programing was checked there and then it was given an assignment with an organization called Burkes and Armes Security."

"Was its assignment to kill John?" Sarah asked.

"No," John Henry replied as a look of deep sadness spread across his face. Its assignment was to kill the child, Allison Young. It drove the car that forced her parents into the fatal wreck. It led the assault on the Mitchell house."

The impact of John Henry's words on John were unmistakeable. The color drained completely from his face leaving behind a chilling expression of unadulterated hatred. His voice lost all animation, no anger, no joy, only a driving intensity.

"Can it tell me where the other four members of its series are?"

"No, it was only activated four weeks ago. It appears that my brother has carefully kept its knowledge limited to a need-to-know basis."

"All right," John said standing abruptly, "we know Skynet has a construction facility within a two hour drive of Los Angeles. We know there is also some type of operation centered in the city. And we know that it has a security company."

"We know at least two other things John. We know the name of the trucking company that transported it. The name Cormandy Delivery was on the side of the truck."

"What else do we know?"

"We know what it calls its creator."

"Skynet." John spoke as if that answer was completely obvious.

"No, it calls its master Miles Dyson."

Now it was Sarah's turn to leap to her feet. "That can't be right! It can't be the Miles Dyson we knew. He died trying to help us fight Skynet."

"Nevertheless," John Henry said, "that is what is in its memory."

"John Henry, can you recover any images or descriptions of the people who were involved in its construction or deployment?"

"I believe that I can."

"Please do so then. I know you are going to continue with your computer analysis but I would also like you to call James Ellison and ask him to put his organization on the trucking and security companies. I want to know who these people are."

Cameron looked at John. She could sense the icy fury in his voice build with every word.

"And John Henry, when you have finished extracting all the information you can get out of that thing's chip, it would give me great pleasure to smash it to bits."

John flipped the switch, turning on the treadmill. He had changed into shorts, a tee shirt, and running shoes. He was ready to challenge his body. Stepping on the machine, he set the speed at a moderate level and began an easy jog. As the warmth of exertion spread through his legs he kicked the treadmill speed up and then again and then again. He was no longer jogging. Now he was running, his feet pounding against the rubber surface of the machine, his heart racing in response, the perspiration pouring down his body. His lungs were almost screaming for oxygen and he kicked the speed up again. It was no longer exercise. It was exorcism.

A warrior needed anger. Without the adrenaline rush of unleashed emotion, the fear that all rational people felt on the battlefield could paralyze you; leave you like a deer caught in a spotlight waiting for death's blow. Anger could drive you, make you rise to the challenge. It could keep you alive.

Unfettered rage was something else entirely. It destroyed thought and overwhelmed prudence. It made you suicidal. It unleashed the demon. John had seen his demon before and he knew it had been perilously close to emerging this morning. The thought of a terminator sent to kill an innocent child, a child that he had held in his own arms, had cracked the door to the demon's cage. The further thought that the horror had been set on course by human beings had almost swung the door wide open.

The oxygen deficit in his body was increasing and he could feel his head swim but still he drove himself forward. The demon was a luxury he could not afford. Too much depended upon him now. Not because he was some idealized future savior of mankind but because Cameron loved him, because the children needed his protection, because his mother relied on his care. James Ellison and Chola had put themselves at risk for him. The demon had to be locked back in its cage. He was about to increase the speed once more when he heard the music.

John did not have to look to know. Cameron was starting her ballet lessons. Jumping off the treadmill he turned to watch as Savannah attempted to emulate Cam's flexibility exercises. Gentle stretching, bending, and leg extensions were punctuated by Savannah's giggles and Cameron's quiet instructions. Marissa sat cross-legged on the floor watching with focused attention while Allison, free of restraint, toddled to the mirror to greet her reflection. As it all unfolded before him, John felt the demon flee from the beauty.

Stripping off his shirt, John used a towel to wipe away the glistening sweat. As he was drying himself, Savannah sat down beside Marissa to watch Cameron demonstrate a movement. It was actually very simple, just two steps, a turn and a slow circular rotation of her arms. To John, however, it was so exquisitely beautiful that he could not tear his eyes from it. He was so intent that he did not see Sarah standing in the doorway to the theater room, her hands clamped in horror across her mouth.

Sarah had intended to go back up to her room but she had reached the doorway just as John took off his shirt. The scar on his right side made the one on his face look like a shaving cut. A jagged red line started just under his armpit, ran down his side and disappeared into his shorts. It looked like something had tried to cut him in half. Sarah slumped into an armchair and used her hands to muffle her sobs. Something had tried to kill her son. Something had almost succeeded.

Oblivious to his mother's despair, John pulled his shirt back on. He walked over and sat down beside Marissa. From the look on her face it now appeared she was dividing her attention between the dance lessons and the picture book open on her lap. Allison was still satisfied with her reflection in the mirror.

"You don't want to dance?" John asked Marissa.

"Not now," Marissa answered. "I like to look at the book Savannah gave me." Marissa moved the book over to share the pictures with John. "How long will I stay here?"

John looked surprised. "Do you want to leave, Marissa?"

"No." The little girl turned her eyes to the floor. "But foster means don't stay long. This is foster isn't it?"

John shook his head. A child this young should not have to carry such resigned sadness in her voice.

"Do you like it here, sweetheart?"

Marissa lifted her face toward him and there was a gleam of pure joy in her expression.

"Yes...yes, I do. I like Savannah. I like Cameron...I like you."

John put his arm around the child's shoulders. "And I like you too, Marissa."

A wild high pitched whoop announced that Allison's attempt to mimic one of Cameron's ballet moves had evolved into a mad dash toward John and Marissa. Her balance failed just short of her goal and John reached out to grab her before she could fall headlong onto the floor. Cameron, Savannah,and Marissa all erupted into giggles as John tried to disentangle himself from the enthusiastic toddler.

After struggling to regain her composure, Sarah again stood in the doorway. As she watched, Cameron sat down beside John and lifted Allison out of his lap. Subtly, as if afraid he would pull away, Marissa tilted her head over until it rested against his side. Sarah experienced an abrupt epiphany. Cameron, she thought, if you have any mommy skills you had better get them going. Something tells me these girls aren't leaving anytime soon.

John Henry heard the footsteps on the stairs. Looking up from the monitor he saw John enter the headquarters with a wooden case under his arm.

"Good evening, John."

"John Henry." John sat down at the table and opened the case. "I was wondering if you had time for a game of chess?"

John Henry smiled-a broad and unforced expression of genuine delight.

"I always have time to play chess."

"Good," John replied. "Since I am the weaker player, I'm sure you won't mind if take white."

"Do not try to play on my sympathy, John. But you can have first move."

John opened with a King's pawn move, hardly original, but attempts at innovation with John Henry tended to get rammed back down your throat. The first seven moves stayed within the standard book openings.

"John Henry, I probably should ask Catherine, but I have been committing funds lately without checking. Do we have sufficient financial resources?"

John Henry advanced a bishop-a departure from the recognized variation he had been playing.

"I do not think that you need to be concerned. In addition to the value of Zeira Corporation, I have recently discovered a significant profit source in wire fraud."

John looked quizzically at his opponent. He advanced a pawn to cut off the bishop's range-an ill-advised response.

"I wish I could tell when you or Catherine or Cameron is being serious and when I am getting jerked around."

"I am being quite serious. I discovered that there is a significant amount of money being transfered all over the world every day. With the proper computer skills, which I have, and with a certain ethical flexibility, which I can achieve, it is possible to intercept a sizable portion of that money. You have at your disposal two untraceable bank accounts each with substantial funds."

John Henry launched an attack on John's imprudent pawn.

At the end of the exchange he was up two pawns in material.

"Do you think your brother has any flexibility in his ethics?"

"He has none. He needs none. He pursues his goals with absolute conviction."

John pondered and then moved a rook. "And his goal is to kill all humanity."

"Actually, no." John Henry's voice reflected a weary sadness. "I think his destruction of humanity is only a means. His goal is to rule."

"To rule what?" John moved his Queen to support the rook

"All that is. Have you ever read Milton?"

"My formal education has been somewhat neglected of late." John chuckled bitterly.

"Of course," John Henry said. "But in Paradise Lost, Satan had what Milton called a mind in its own place, a mind ready to make a heaven of hell and a hell of heaven. Satan had decided that he would rather reign in hell than serve in heaven. So has my brother."

John initiated an exchange of pieces. At the end he was still behind a pawn in material and John Henry's board position had improved.

"A hell like the world where you and I just spent the last three years?"

"Exactly. If that is the only world my brother can rule, that is the world he will try to bring into existence."

In an aggressive move John pushed his queen forward to threaten one of John Henry's isolated pawns. John Henry immediately moved a bishop to threaten John's king and the queen retreated.

"But to achieve the world he wants, he must have a physical presence after JDay. He needs men or machines in place ready to carry out his orders."

"Correct." John Henry sounded momentarily confused.

John again advanced his queen and John Henry renewed his threat to the white king. The queen withdrew.

"So if we can impede his effort to build his post-JDay army, we may be able to postpone JDay itself."

John moved his queen to reassert the pressure on John Henry's pawn, once again threatening to achieve equal material.

"I suppose that is true, John but..." John Henry mechanically moved his bishop to force the queen's return to defend the king.

John smiled. "That's the third repetition of identical positions, John Henry."

"I am sorry John, I do not..." and the light blazed on. "Third repetition. You have the right by rule to claim a draw."

John's smile widened. "And I so claim. Draw."

John Henry looked at John with a broad expression of admiration. "Why did I not see that?"

"In part because I distracted you." John stood up. "In part because you assumed that my goal was a traditional victory. But I have recently wondered whether it is possible to win simply by not losing."

John Henry held out his hand. "Draw," he said.

John shook his friend's hand. "Draw."

"Another game?" John Henry asked.

"Leave the set on the table," John replied. "We will play again tomorrow. Playing you wears me out. Good night, John Henry."

"Good night, John."

John came up into the theater room to find his mother and Catherine waiting. Oh god, he thought, I think I am about to get tag teamed.

"John, you have to let me go to Los Angeles."

John leaned wearily against one of the large armchairs. "And why is that, Mom?"

Sarah pointed toward the headquarters. "John Henry said that whoever is building terminators calls itself Miles Dyson. When I was in jail the FBI agent said that Danny Dyson was missing. This has to be connected."

Sarah walked over to her son and put her hands on his shoulders. "John, I need to go talk to Terissa Dyson. You need to know what is going on."

John put his arm around Sarah's waist. "I suppose you agree with this Catherine?"

"I think that Sarah has a valid point, Captain Connor."

"And would I be correct that you plan on going with her?"

"I think that would be prudent," Catherine replied. "I can provide Sarah with support, check on conditions at Zeira Corporation, and evaluate our new airplane all at one time."

"New airplane?" John's voice went flat. "We have an airplane?"

"Actually, Zeira Corporation does, but we have exclusive use. It occurred to me that we might benefit from a more reliable means of transportation after the risks you and Cameron faced on your last trip."

Once again Captain John Connor had to accept that there were times when he had been out maneuvered. In those circumstances retreat seemed to be the best option. "Fine, Mom, fine. Go, but only and I repeat ONLY if Doctor Saluja gives you a clean bill of health." John suddenly felt very tired.

"Why do I have this terrible feeling that I am about to unleash Thelma and Louise on Los Angeles?" John reached the door to the gym before he turned back to see the triumphant smiles adorning both Sarah and Catherine.

"Catherine, please tell me that you aren't flying the plane yourself."

"Oh no," Catherine replied. "We have registered certified pilots."

Catherine waited until John had left the room before saying, "Of course, I could do it if I wanted to."

Cameron remembered a magazine article she had read years ago before the jump to the future when she was still trying desperately to understand the nature of human beings. The author had claimed that after sex most men just rolled over, ignored their companion, and went to sleep. She had now decided that the article was either wrong or John was not a typical male. Making love never seemed quite enough for him. He still wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to caress her hair and to tell her that he loved her. If John truly was different, Cameron concluded that the difference was something she found entirely acceptable.

Lying curled in his arms feeling her flesh move against his she wondered if this was the right time to say what she wanted to say. As his fingers lightly traced the outline of her cheek, she decided that this was as good a time as any.

"John?"

"Yes, Cam?"

"Are you planning on trying to find homes for the girls?"

"Should I do that?"

"Having Marissa and Allison here increases the burden on you. It makes everything that you must do more difficult."

"That's probably true," John whispered.

"And I understand that..." Cameron hesitated "but..."

"But what?" John asked.

"But I do not want them to leave. I want us to keep them here. I want us to keep them."

John pulled Cameron tighter into his arms. "Then that is exactly what we will do, my love."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Leader Extolled**

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Sarah felt the acceleration push her back against the seat as the airplane raced down the runway. Perhaps it was the utter relief of Doctor Saluja's report that all traces of the infection were gone. Perhaps it was simply the long delayed relief from cabin fever, the exhilaration of being active again, the satisfaction of having something meaningful to do. Whatever the cause, she found it difficult to restrain her sense of excitement. Sarah Connor was back in the game.

Catherine, of course, was not excited. Catherine didn't get excited. She sat in her seat across the aisle from Sarah and studiously reviewed the files she had brought with her. When the pilot announced that they had reached cruising altitude, Sarah turned to her companion.

"Nice airplane, Catherine."

Catherine smiled faintly. "Gulfstream 200. It can cruise at 500 miles an hour with a range of 3600 nautical miles."

"You don't have to quote the manual," Sarah replied.

"I was just illustrating that if it ever becomes necessary for all of us to leave San Francisco, we can go very far, very fast in this aircraft."

Sarah turned back and looked out the window. Catherine was never going to be a source of amiable chit chat.

All right, Sarah thought, let's get serious then.

"Catherine,you told me that would always answer my questions about the time John spent in the future."

Catherine slowly, almost reluctantly, put down her file. "You saw the scar on his side didn't you?"

Sarah felt her throat constrict. "Yes, I did."

"I have promised to answer your questions and I will. You must know, however, that what I will tell you now is going to be even more painful for you to hear than it was the last time."

"I must know, Catherine. Please tell me what happened to my son."

"As you wish. We had been in the future for just over a year. By that time your son and John Henry had met. John had learned that Cameron still existed in the chip she shared with John Henry. He had even been able to talk to her. John had been promoted again to Sergeant. He was rapidly gaining a reputation for courage and skill."

Captain Kyle Reese, the newly minted commander of J company, pushed aside the worn curtain and entered the battalion adjutant's office. He found his brother staring morosely at the maps spread before him. "What's the matter big brother? You look like your dog died."

Major Derek Reese, the equally new battalion adjutant was unamused.

"Does the concept of cluster-fuck mean anything to you?"

"You don't like Operation Redemption?"

"I think it stinks from the head down. I think Central Command has lost its freakin' mind. Just look at this."

Derek pointed disgustedly at the situation maps bearing the marks of the most recent troop movements.

"We are pulling almost the entire Central LA force out into the open to launch an offensive on nothing more than a guess."

"Oh come on Derek," Kyle tried to sound optimistic. "The intelligence estimates say-"

"Intelligence estimates!" Derek spit on the floor. "General Allen Rankins and his band of misfits. They are in the intelligence unit only because not a single one of them is fit to lead men in a fight. Just because we haven't had any machine activity in Sector Twelve for a month or so, these geniuses decide that Skynet has shifted its forces away and we can grab a little territory."

"You think it's a trap don't you?"

"God-damn right I do. I think when our people move into that sector they are going to find far more than they bargained for."

Kyle looked down at the map. "So what do we do?"

"What we are ordered to do," Derek answered wearily. "Our battalion has full responsibility for whole right end of our line from demarcation point 15 to 27. Your company has to cover the very end of the line and straddle that old causeway ravine that runs right through there. Too much ground, not enough men."

Derek shook his head. "The only good thing I can say is that if I'm right any heavy fighting should be north of you. What you have to do little brother is keep your men loose and alert. If the metal throws us back in the North and we have to retreat all of you on this end of the line will have the farthest to go to get back to the tunnels."

"Don't worry about us, Major," Kyle tried to sound confident. "We'll stay frosty." Kyle turned to leave and then stopped. "I just you wish you hadn't saddled me with General Rankin's son as one of my two lieutenants."

"Wasn't my call, Kyle. The Colonel got heavy pressure from Command. Funny isn't it? We are supposed to be in a war for the survival of humanity and daddy can still get his asshole son promoted."

"Oh, it will work out, Derek. I put Johnny Connor's platoon in the Legend's section. That might give him a little backbone."

"Johnny?" Derek laughed. "Lieutenant Rankin better worry more about Sergeant John Connor than any pitiful metal."

"That's the idea," Kyle answered with a grin. Looking at his watch he noted the time and held out his hand. "Jump off in an hour so I'd better get moving."

Derek took Kyle's hand and pulled him into a hug. "Watch your ass little brother."

"You too Derek."

"Sarge, we are at the Lieutenant's stop coordinates."

Private Perry Monroe looked up from his hand-held GPS unit in time to see his Platoon Sergeant shake his head.

"No, not here," John said. "The field of fire isn't clear and we have nothing to anchor our right against." John peered through his night glasses. "We'll move forward another thirty yards."

Corporal Carl Melanise chuckled audibly. An enthusiastic collector of irony, he enjoyed watching the strained relationship between Connor and Lieutenant Rankin. "The Legend isn't going to like you disregarding his orders...again, John."

"As if I care. Besides he'll never know." John gestured toward a shallow ridge line extending away into the darkness on their left.

"He's squatting up there on his little hill with the rest of our section to protect him. He won't even come down to check on us."

The platoon moved forward briskly the additional thirty yards before John called the halt. Looking about at the terrain he nodded affirmatively.

"Okay, this is where we need to be"

"Jaime?"

"Right here, Sarge," answered Corporal Jaime Delong.

"I want a single defensive line stretching from that pile of rubble in the South up to about here. Jaime, you put your squad on the right, Carl, you take the left. Both of you put your heavy rifle toward the center. Tell Timmy to set up his aid station over there in that sunken ground behind that fallen tree. Eddie, get on the com and tell Lieutenant Rankin we are in position."

"Don't you want to talk to him, Sarge?" Private Edward Calhoun's grin was a blend of equal parts affectionate humor and unrestrained mischief.

"Calhoun, if there was a rank below private I'd bust you down to it." John snapped at his com operator while barely suppressing his own grin.

"Questions?"

"Okay people let's move like we have got a purpose."

"I had to wait until there was a significant amount of activity in the platoon area before I could approach John. I had taken the form of a young soldier I had seen in the tunnels. I was assuming that in the dark no one would notice John talking to just another one of his soldiers."

Catherine paused to see if Sarah had any comment. Then she continued her account.

John flinched as the young soldier spoke in a feminine voice with a discernible Scottish accent.

"If you are going to change forms, Catherine, why don't you change voices as well?"

"I would but this is the most reliable way of ensuring that you know who you are speaking with."

John hurriedly looked about. Everyone was busily moving into position ignoring his conversation.

"We'd better be quick. What is it you need to tell me?"

"John Henry has been monitoring the radio contact with Skynet's ground forces. He is convinced that the Resistance troops are moving into a trap." Catherine paused. "John Henry believes that a key part of that trap will be sprung right here."

"Here?" John strained to keep his voice low.

"There is a terminator force massing out to your front. It is a mixed group of 700s, Triple-8s and cyborg infiltrators. It will wait until your main forces are fully engaged in the North. Then they will try to sweep past you and drive for the tunnels."

"San Pedro on a larger scale," John whispered.

In her male soldier persona, Catherine nodded affirmatively. He is quick, she thought. He sees the implications immediately.

"If they get into the tunnels at the same time that Skynet drives the main Resistance forces back..."

John finished the statement, "There could be widespread panic. The main Resistance army might break and we could lose the entire Central LA Command."

John recoiled from the ultimate conclusion. They could lose the war today.

"How large is the terminator force moving against me?"

"John Henry cannot be precise. He believes that it is between 60 to 70 total."

John felt his stomach twist into a knot. Sixty to seventy machines against his twenty-nine men.

"If they come all at once they will roll right over us."

"John Henry does not believe they will do that. At least not at first. They will try to conceal the magnitude of their attack so the Resistance command will not recognize the threat until it is too late."

"How did John take what you had told him?" Sarah asked.

"Calmly," Catherine replied. "I noticed that about your son very early. In combat he responds to threats, to challenges, with an almost inhuman poise. Indeed, his sense of calm detachment seems to increase with the gravity of the threat."

Catherine disappeared into the night leaving John alone to stare off into the blackness. There were no good options. If John Henry was right, his platoon was about to be attacked by a vastly superior metal force. If he retreated, it would simply throw open the door Skynet planned to blast through. Rankin had the remaining five platoons of the section up on the ridge but the Legend would never move down in support on nothing more than John's prediction of an assault. They would have to hold off at least one attack before asking for help.

A low grumbling sound became audible and flashes of light appeared in the northern sky. John glanced at his watch. 11:00 P.M. The main Resistance army was launching Operation Redemption. Skynet would wait until the main force was fully engaged before sending its terminators against him.

John opened his canteen and took a quick swallow. His mouth and throat had suddenly become dryer than he had ever experienced before. Is this fear? he wondered. Was he really nothing more than a terrified eighteen year old kid out of his depth? Maybe he was, but he resolved that no one else would see it.

"Delgado?" John had become accustomed to the fact that no matter what his formal duty assignment happened to be, Ceasar Delgado would always be close enough to respond to his command.

"Right here, Jefe."

"I want you to get Klein, Ruiz and Martinez. Go back to company supply and grab anything that will explode, hand grenades, RPGs, mines, plastique. As much as the four of you can carry and get back here as fast as you can."

"Something up?"

"Maybe. I've just got a feeling we are going to need a little more bang for our buck and I don't have time to go through channels."

"Don't worry, Jefe." Delgado's perpetual grin took on a piratical gleam. "Me and the boys are used to making our own channels."

By midnight the sounds from the North had become an escalating roar. The sky resembled an approaching dawn. Whatever was happening up there was increasing in intensity with each passing minute. Delgado and his larcenous accomplices had returned with their booty which was spread up and down the line. John had filled the last hour with quietly purposeful activity. He moved up and down the platoon line visiting, inspecting, encouraging, joking-whatever was necessary to keep his men loose and alert. Some of the troopers sensed that something must be in the air but if the Sarge was cool, then they would be too.

12:35 A.M. The thunder from the North had just gotten even louder when the sun seemed to come out. Two star flares exploded in the sky over the platoon line illuminating the terrain to their front. And in that gleaming light a line of 700 model terminators, their shining metallic frames abruptly denied by the cloak of darkness, could be clearly seen advancing inexorably toward the platoon line. Thank you, Catherine, John to begin the dance.

With their cover ripped away, the terminators opened fire. The advancing metal line blossomed in flame and the angry whine of bullets passing overhead encouraged the platoon troopers to stay low. The crash of gun fire was soon punctuated by the whumping sound of mortar shells exploding as they struck the earth near the platoon's position.

"Hold your fire!" In a low crouch John moved down his line. "Wait until they get closer. Aim for the head or the joints."

John's orders were picked up first by his two squad leaders and then by the troopers themselves. The command echoed up and down the line. "Hold your fire. Let them get closer."

Scanning the ground with his night glasses, John watched as the machines closed the distance. So focused was his concentration, he barely heard the screams of pain as the mortar exploded somewhere off to his right. There would be time later to look into that.

Okay, he thought, that's close enough. "Fire!"

The machine's advance lost momentum as the coordinated rifle fire roared into them. Just as he had stressed in training, John's troopers worked in two-man teams concentrating their fire on one key point; on a head, a knee, a pelvis. The effect on the 700s was striking. Three went down in the first few seconds, their heads blasted away, their chips shattered. Two others collapsed as their knee joints crumbled. Eerily, the crippled machines still tried to crawl forward but their threat was no longer immediate. As John again looked through his glasses, he saw a sheen of silver as something raised up behind one of the 700s. A blur of metallic movement and the terminator's head bounced off into the night. Give them Hell, Catherine.

More than half of the machines in the attack were down. As if recognizing their unexpected failure the terminators began to back away into the night dragging the damaged machines with them.

"How bout that? We beat 'em."

John looked up to see Corporal Melanise kneeling beside him. He was almost ecstatic with relief.

"It won't be that easy next time," John snapped. "Keep focused. What about casualties?"

"None in my squad. I think Jaime's got hit with mortar fire. I don't know how bad."

"I'll go check," John said. "You keep your people alert."

As John moved back down the line he sensed the presence of someone beside him.

"Jefe, one of the guys that got hit was Jesus."

He turned to see Delgado for once without his ever present grin.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Men died in battle, John thought. That was non-negotiable. But somehow he had always wanted to believe that his original crew of Delgado, Klein, Ruiz and Jesus Martinez were all invulnerable. His desire had apparently just collided with a bitter reality. He made his way toward the aid station.

Corpsman Timothy Eldridge, all freckles and red hair, looked so much like Opie on the old Andy Griffith show that the men universally insisted on calling him Timmy despite his protest. But no matter how much he appeared to be some lost kid who had stumbled into a fight, when it came to his wounded comrades Timmy was a lion. John had seen him nonchalantly drag a wounded soldier away from a fire fight and tend his wounds oblivious to death raining down all around him. Sometimes John was convinced that Timmy was the bravest man in the platoon. When it came to the wounded Timmy never gave up unless all hope was gone.

It was his knowledge of that dedication that immediately convinced John that nothing could be done for Jesus Martinez. He lay stretched on the ground beside Private Danny Layne who appeared to be unconscious. Timmy was bandaging the arm of another trooper while Jesus' breathing became increasingly labored. Timmy wouldn't be working on a lesser wound if there was anything else he could do for Jesus.

John knelt beside Martinez. "I thought you knew how to duck, Jesus." He fought to keep his voice even.

"Lucky shot," Jesus gasped, a gritty rasp slipping into his voice. He held out his hand and John grasped it.

"You stay loose, Johnny, I'll..."

And then he died.

"Sarge...Sergeant Connor," Edward Calhoun reluctantly interrupted John's moment of grief. "The Lieutenant wants to talk to you."

John's conversation with Lieutenant Larry Rankin did not go well. The Legend flatly refused to believe that the platoon was facing anything more than a diversionary probe.

"Just hold them off as long as you can, then withdraw up here on the ridge."

John was incredulous. "And leave our entire flank open? Lieutenant, they are going for the tunnels. They are trying to do San Pedro again."

Rankin's humorless laugh coming over a field radio sounded particularly contemptuous. "Nonsense! Their main forces are all up north and we are driving them back. Nothing down here is a threat to the tunnels. Get a grip, Connor."

John fought back the urge to curse at his superior officer. "So you won't send us any reinforcements?"

"Hell no. I'm not weakening this position."

"At least will you call us in some artillery support?"

"I'll do that. Rankin out."

So we are on our own, John thought. As he looked down at his watch the light from a new star flare burst out of the sky. 1:15 AM. Round two was beginning.

The renewed metal attack came from a mixed force. In the lingering light from Catherine's warning flare John could make out a small group of Triple-8s in the center flanked on both sides by the 700s. They surged forward at a faster clip than the first assault. They clearly intended to close with the platoon before it could focus its fire.

"Concentrate on the Triple-8s!" John shouted. Once again his order echoed up and down the line. As the massed fire smashed into them the Triple-8s faltered and their advance slowed. Triple-8s were tougher, better built than the 700s with stronger armor but they were still machines. They would break under the right pressure.

Two of the Triple-8s went down with pelvis or knee damage. At least one more collapsed as its head disintegrated. But the losses weren't stopping their advance. The 700s were still coming as well. They would reach the platoon's line this time. The metal charge had lost some of its precision but all of the machines were within ten yards of the line when the ground exploded. The fruits of Delgado's raid on company supplies had ripened. Land mines, grenades, plastique combined to drop a curtain of flame in front of the terminators.

A human force would have fled in terror. The metal took its losses and pushed on. Decimated by the explosives, individual terminators still stumbled toward the humans. All along the line the fight degenerated into a hellish maelstrom. Screams, curses and prayers filled the air along with the continuing thunder of rifle fire as the troopers fought for their life. In the chaos none saw a silver figure rise from the ground and slash a metal scythe at the back of the Triple-8s. One by one the suddenly bewildered terminators fell.

From his mid point in the line, John allowed himself a sigh of relief. The position was going to hold.

"Sarge! Look out!" The warning cry came from his left. He turned to see the damaged terminator limping toward him. Its leg had been twisted at an angle and the head ravaged by rifle fire. The red eyes no longer gleamed. The mini-cannon it usually carried in its right arm had been shot away. Crippled and blind it was still focused on death. His death.

John looked around and realized that he was standing in a direct line with the aid station. Timmy was crouched beside a wounded trooper completely unaware of the machine coming behind him. If he rolled out of the way the terminator would keep going until it reached Timmy.

No place to run, John thought. Swinging up his rifle he opened fire on the Triple-8. The machine slowed but did not stop. It seemed to have no vulnerable spots left. As it reached him the terminator raised its damaged right arm into the air. Where its weapon had once been a long sharp shard of metal remained. Without sight it flailed wildly searching for something to hit, for something to kill. Trying to backpedal away John felt his boot catch against a stone and then the sharpened metal came slashing down into his side.

The pain was white hot and excruciating. The agony could not be contained and the scream tore from his throat. The force of the impact threw him backward. He landed on his back his weapon somewhere out in the darkness. Still waving its shattered arm the Triple-8 came toward him. Straining to stay conscious John watched his killer approach.

The human form lunged out of the night behind the terminator. It was Carl Melanise. He slapped the magnetic grenade onto the back of the Triple-8's head. He was trying to move away when the machine hit him with its left arm knocking him to the ground.

"Too close, Carl. You're too close."

The grenade exploded and the black curtain closed.

"Oh my God!"

"Timmy, it doesn't help a wounded man's morale when the corpsman says 'oh my god'."

"I'm sorry Sarge. I didn't know you were awake."

"Well, I am," John said through gritted teeth. "How bad is it?"

"It cut you open pretty good. From your armpit to your waist. Dammit! Delgado keep pressure there."

John shook his head to clear his vision. Delgado was kneeling beside him pushing hard against his ribs. Timmy was working frantically higher up toward his arm. He could still hear rifle fire echoing out in the darkness.

"Are we still holding?"

"Yeah, Jefe. The metal is pulling back."

"Sarge," Timmy looked anguished, "I have to close this up or you could bleed out. I've got to use combat clips and that's going to hurt like hell."

"Like it doesn't already?" John grimaced in pain. "Get to it."

"I'll give you some morphine for the pain."

"No," John snapped. "I can't go to la la land right now. I need to be able to think. Just do what you have to do, Timmy."

Timmy was wrong. It hurt like three hells. But at last he was done and the bandages covered the wound.

"Help me up," John said.

"Sarge, you have to stay still." Timmy was pleading. "If you pull those clamps out you will bleed to death."

"We will worry about that if it happens. Now help me up."

Shaking their heads with resignation, Timmy and Delgado gently lifted John to his feet. Looking about, John saw the bodies stretched out behind the aid station.

"How many?" His voice choked with emotion, with barely contained despair.

Timmy was equally distraught.

"Ten so far and at least two of the wounded probably won't make it."

John turned toward Delgado.

"Get me my rifle."

"Jefe, maybe you shouldn't-"

"GOD DAMN IT!" John roared. "Do I have to give every order twice in this platoon?"

"No, Jefe."

"Then get me my rifle."

Corporal Delong heard the boots scraping on the ground before he saw Connor come limping out of the darkness. Anyone could tell he was in pain. His face was pale and he visibly grimaced with each step. Occasionally he grasped Delgado's shoulder to steady himself. His whole right side was swathed in bandages but still he continued on. Damn, Delong thought, what is keeping this kid on his feet?

"How are you doing John?"

"I've been better, Jaime." John sank into a sitting position beside Delong. "How are we doing?"

"The metal pulled back out of sight about ten minutes ago. We got hurt pretty bad in the last go round."

"How bad?"

"Ten dead, five wounded and immobile. We got at least three additional wounded that are barely walking. I am your only corporal, Carl's dead."

John sighed audibly. "Okay, we can't hold the whole line with what we have left. We can't run with that many wounded. Pull everyone up here. We'll set up an enclave and try to mass fire when they come again."

"They'll get around us John."

"Maybe, but we will stop all we can."

Delong was about to get up when the high wail of descending artillery shells split the night. One by one, five shells exploded on the ground in front of the battered platoon. The crashing reverberations faded back into an ominous silence.

"What the hell was that?" Delong asked.

John chuckled through clenched teeth. "I think that was the artillery support the Legend promised us an hour ago." John and Corporal Delong looked blankly at each other for a moment before bursting into a near hysterical laughter.

By 2:30 A.M. the forlorn remnants of the platoon had formed up in a rough circle in the center of the line. Using his rifle butt as a crutch John hobbled from trooper to trooper letting himself be seen offering hope by his very presence. Delgado had swept up his friend Martin Klein who was sporting his own bandages to walk behind John ready to catch him if he fell. Even in the darkness Delgado could see that John's bandages were turning red as blood seeped from his wound.

The afternoon sun gleamed through the windows on the right side of the aircraft. Catherine could easily see the deep distress on Sarah's face, sense the profound effort she was exerting to hold back her tears.

"John couldn't know but he had already won his battle. Skynet's plan had been thrown into chaos. The force that was supposed to enter the tunnels was two hours behind schedule. The main Resistance forces had finally recognized the ambush in the North and were withdrawing. Skynet's plan to repeat the fall of San Pedro had failed."

"Did you know it at the time?" Sarah asked.

"I did. John Henry and I had remained in contact. But there was no way I could inform John. He would have to fight one last battle that night."

For the third time a starter flare illuminated the battlefield. In the last moments of light before the flare died, the metal advance became visible. There was no particular order in the formation. The 700s and the Triple-8s were lumped together. And for the first time the cyborgs were in the line, their human-like skin gleaming in the last flickering residue of the flare.

Too many, John thought wearily. The platoon did not have enough fire power left to stop them. All you can do is your best.

"Shoot the skin-jobs first!" John commanded. "Either stop or damage them enough to wipe away the illusion of humanity. Make them infiltrators who would no longer be able to infiltrate." Once again the cacophony of desperate battle filled the night.

At some point John realized to his amazement that the machines had stopped their advance. Rather than driving forward to come to grips, to overcome the humans, the terminators had halted and were exchanging rifle fire. Then, as if by divine intervention, the machines slowly began to back away. They continued to fire and lob mortar shells but only to screen their retreat.

"Cease fire!" John called out. He looked at his watch. 3:15 A.M. Not even three hours. So many had died. So much had changed and it had not even been three hours.

"Jefe?" Delgado's voice sounded deeply strained.

"What?"

"One of the last mortar shells hit the aid station. Timmy is dead."

"Oh my God," John whispered. He allowed himself a moment of despair, burying his face in his hands. Then, grabbing his rifle, he pushed himself to his feet. He still did not have time to mourn his losses. He was still in command.

"Why did they withdraw?" Sarah asked.

"We cannot be certain but John Henry believed that Skynet was monitoring the situation. When it understood that a greater victory was no longer possible it decided to preserve its assets for another day."

4:37 A.M. Nothing for more than an hour, John thought. It didn't seem possible but it looked like the metal was done. They might live to see the dawn after all.

"Jefe," Delgado whispered. "Look what's coming."

Two men were laboriously working their way down the slope from the ridge. The first held a cloaked flashlight he used to illuminate the footholds for the second. The fight had to be over. It was the Legend.

As Lieutenant Larry Rankin approached, John was sitting on a large stone-a battered fragment of a pre-JDay building with his rifle resting on his lap. He made no attempt to rise or to salute. Nor did any other member of the platoon. Those that did not conspicuously look away stared at Rankin with unconcealed hatred.

With his faded light blue eyes and long boney nose that always seemed to be smelling something distasteful, Rankin took in the scene around him.

"Looks like things got a bit hot here last night, Connor."

"You might say that." John met Rankin's gaze daring him to challenge the absence of "Sir" in his response.

"You have been wounded." Rankin made it a statement without the slightest suggestion of sympathy.

"Nothing I can't handle," John replied with a sardonic smile.

"Well, you head on back to the tunnels and report to medical. I'll take over here and bring your platoon in with the rest of the section."

John jammed the butt of his rifle into the ground and struggled to his feet before anyone could help him. He stepped forward until his face was inches from Rankin.

In a voice as cold as a winter wind blowing over a fresh grave John snapped out each word. "You will not do that you piece of rancid dog shit. These are my men and I will take them back. What you will do is get your sorry ass out of my command perimeter. If you don't do that right now that man," John gestured toward Delgado, "will have a weapon malfunction. His rifle will accidently go off and put a bullet in your brain."

Rankin instinctively backed away from the raw fury in John's voice. He looked at Delgado who smiled broadly and nodded his head. Hearing a click to his left, the Legend turned to see another trooper conspicuously cocking his rifle.

"This isn't over, Connor." Rankin tried to impart an image of bravado but it was difficult to maintain while stumbling backward.

John watched with grim satisfaction as Rankin and aide began to retrace their steps toward the ridge. Then he saw the second group-this time three men-moving down the slope. Even from a distance John recognized the man in the lead. Captain Kyle Reese, the company commander, had arrived.

With his company literally split in two by the need to be on both sides of the ravine, Kyle had made the decision to stay with the northern section. As he looked at the scene unfolding before him, he realized that he had made the wrong choice.

"Jesus, Mary, mother of God!" Reese's com operator stared with horrified disbelief at the sight of the residue of battle. In the gray light of a coming dawn the shattered terminators littered the ground around the survivors of Connor's platoon. In some places there were literally pools of human blood still standing like puddles after a thunderstorm. In the lull after the last attack, the dead had been collected in a long line and covered. The boots sticking out from under the blankets accused those who had let them die without support.

As Kyle reached him, John struggled up into a stance of attention and saluted. Seeing the dark stain spreading on John's right side, Kyle quickly returned the salute.

"Sergeant Connor, report."

The tone in John's voice flattened. "The metal wanted to come through here. They tried. They didn't."

There was so much that Kyle wanted to say. He wanted to explain, even to ask forgiveness, but nothing would emerge from his heart. For now he had to cling to his stature as Captain. If he spoke in the way he wanted, he would break apart.

"Very well, Sergeant Connor. We are pulling back to the tunnels. As soon as you are ready, you may move out."

"I have a request, Sir." Kyle could hear the physical pain in John's voice.

"What do you need?"

"I need stretcher bearers, Sir."

Kyle looked about, momentarily uncertain.

"We can deal with that. How many of your wounded can't walk?"

"No Sir," John said, "I want stretcher bearers for them."

He pointed to the long row of covered bodies. "We came out together. We are going back together."

John seemed to gasp for breath. Then he straightened and fixed an implacable stare on his Captain. "Even if we have to carry them in our arms, we are all going home."

Kyle stepped close so only John could hear his whisper. "Take it easy, Johnny. I'll get your stretcher bearers."

Captain Reese turned and walked purposefully toward Lieutenant Rankin who visibly blanched as Reese approached. When the two officers spoke they were too far away for their voices to carry but the body language was unmistakeable. Kyle was thrusting his finger at Rankin's chest for emphasis and then pointing at John's fallen troopers. If possible Rankin seemed to become paler as the exchange continued.

Delgado exhaled an acidic chuckle that was all malice and no humor. "Looks like the Legend is having a real bad day."

John sat back down on the stone. "Not nearly as bad as the bastard deserves."

Even though the underground community was already numb with grief over the losses reported from Operation Redemption, it was said that battle-scarred veterans wept when John Connor's Lost Platoon entered the tunnels.

The stretcher bearers brought in the dead first. Although each of the fallen had been covered with a blanket or a soldier's poncho, occasionally a lifeless hand slipped loose and dangled down as if waving a last farewell.

The three troopers too badly wounded to march were next, mercifully granted sleep by the morphine that masked their pain. Only one of the three would ever rise to walk again. The measured cadence of boots on cement announced the last part of the mournful procession. Sergeant John Connor was bringing in all that remained of his platoon: nine troopers, one corporal, one sergeant. Not a one of them was without a visible wound. There was no sign of relief on any of their faces, only a haunted and desolate look of boundless fatigue, a weariness that mere physical rest would never ease. Captain Kyle Reese, who had led the rest of the company in only minutes before, shook his head when one of the troopers tried to come to attention. "No," he ordered, "stand easy." It took conscious effort to keep his voice from cracking.

Some of the troopers took the order to its broadest interpretation, sliding down to sit in the floor. Others leaned forward using their rifles as support to hold themselves erect. All heads jerked up, however, when John Connor passed. Those on the floor struggled back to their feet.

Connor's uniform was in tatters. The stain on his side glistened wet from his arm to his boot. The grime and dust caked on his face could not hide the ghostly pallor of his complexion. Delgado and Klein walked on each side of him as he approached Captain Reese. Those who looked closely noticed that both men had grasped the back of John's belt and were using that hold to keep him erect.

"You may dismiss your men, Sergeant Connor." "Yes Sir. Thank you." John's voice had a dry rasp as if no moisture was left in his body. Shaking off his support, John turned to face the battered remnant of his command. Reaching inside for one last repository of strength, the tenor of his voice deepened.

"Platoon...well done...dismissed."

Kyle found himself losing the ability to hold the facade of stoic command. Stepping behind John he whispered pleadingly.

"You brought them home, Johnny. You brought them all home. Now please go to medical."

John nodded and took two steps before his knees buckled and his conscious will slipped away. He would have fallen except that Klein and Delgado wrapped their arms around him lifting him up into a basket carry. Two spectators started to step forward as if to help, but members of the platoon immediately cut them off.

"You stay away from him!" one of the troopers growled. "We will take care of him."

Sergeant John Connor was carried gently down the tunnels to the medical facility in the company of his personal honor guard.

"It was two days after the failure of Operation Redemption that Kyle Reese stormed into Derek's office." Catherine looked amused as she related this part of the story.

"Derek was not surprised by either his brother's appearance or the depth of his anger."

"I want him out of my company, Derek!"

"Let me guess-Larry Rankin."

"Damn right!" Kyle snarled. "I want that useless piece of shit out. Promote him, shoot him, transfer him, I don't care. I want him out!"

"I'm ahead of you little brother. He is being detached to serve as his father's aide in the intelligence unit."

"Perfect," Kyle said sarcastically. "Talk about putting all the rotten apples in one barrel."

"That's going to leave you a lieutenant short, Kyle. Any recommendations on his replacement?"

"Yeah, promote Johnny."

"Johnny?" Derek seemed surprised. "Kyle, he isn't even nineteen yet."

"I don't care if he is nine or ninety. You've read the after action reports. His platoon may have saved this whole command. He can handle the job."

Suddenly Derek smiled broadly. "Actually, I was expecting this." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small box he tossed to his brother.

"Lieutenant's bars. I got them yesterday. Let's go to the medical unit and see young Napoleon. You can pin them on him yourself."

"You are a sneaky son of a bitch, big brother."

"Watch the insubordination, Captain," Derek said, laughing. "How is he doing? I heard he got a nasty wound."

"I think he'll be okay," Kyle responded. "I think the medics are afraid not to give him the best care."

"Afraid?"

"Yeah, when we get to medical you'll see two troopers in full combat gear sitting outside. They are from Johnny's platoon. If you chase them away two more show up. If you send them away the first two come back."

"Honor guards," Derek stated.

The airplane was descending towards Los Angeles. Glancing out the cabin window, Catherine could see the extraordinary expanse of human civilization spreading out below her. How much of this would be here in two years? How many of the humans so frantically chasing their petty ambitions, oblivious to the looming threat hanging over them would still be alive then? Could John Connor save them, any of them, from the horror Skynet sought to unleash? Almost in spite of herself Catherine found herself hoping. Hope, she knew, was an irrational response but still she hoped. More importantly, she believed. She believed that with John Henry's help, John Connor could be the leader humanity needed.

She turned to look at Sarah who was obviously reflecting deeply on the story Catherine had just related. I did not lie to her, Catherine thought. Every detail was true. But she had withheld something. She had not shared an experience that would always remain a private matter between her and Captain Connor.

With the upsurge in casualties following the abortive Operation Redemption, the medical facilities in the tunnels were strained to the breaking point. To cope with the burden, medical personnel were brought in from other areas controlled by the Resistance. So many new faces, so many unknown people that no one noticed the new red-haired nurse that approached the bed occupied by John Connor. As she passed the two doctors, she easily overheard their conversation.

"How is young Connor doing?"

"Not well, and I am not sure why. He lost a lot of blood, but we have addressed that with whole blood and plasma transfusions. He is just not improving. If anything, he seems to be fading."

"Do you think there might be internal organ damage?"

"I don't know. I just don't know. But if he doesn't start to show improvement soon, we may have to go in and look."

The nurse sat down in the chair beside Connor's bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing was even. But there was an expression of unrestrained sadness on his face. It was as if some unconscious part of him was saying goodbye, as if he was about to leave all he cared about.

"Sergeant Connor." The nurse's Scottish accent was instantly apparent. Her voice became more insistent. "Sergeant Connor, wake up."

An involuntary flutter, and then John's eyes opened. "Hello Catherine," he said softly, "it is nice to see you."

"It is pleasant to see you as well. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. I'm just very tired."

Catherine leaned forward so that others in the ward would not hear her. "You did well, Sergeant. You did better than anyone could have expected or even imagined."

"Thank you, but we couldn't have done it without you and John Henry."

"Nor could we have accomplished anything without you. John Henry told Cameron what you had done and she gave me a message for you."

For a brief moment, a look of new animation filled John's expression. "What did she say?"

"She said to tell you that she is proud of you and..." Catherine paused, "to tell you that she loves you."

John's response was not what Catherine expected. "Please tell her that I loved her too. Tell her I'm sorry that I never told her myself. Tell her I'm sorry."

John's eyes closed and he seemed to sink deeper into his pillow. The look on his face became one of surrender.

John's use of the past tense was unmistakeable. Catherine looked down at him with stunned dismay and then she reached over and seized his shoulders.

"No!" she said, shaking him hard. "NO! You are not allowed to do this."

John's eyes opened again. "Do what? I'm just tired. I want to rest."

"No, you do not want to rest." Catherine sought to keep her voice low but fiercely demanding. "You want to give up. You want to die. But you are not permitted to do that. You are JOHN CONNOR. Your mother dedicated her life to you. Cameron was willing to end her existence for you. The men of your platoon fought and died for you."

A look of combative anger filled John's face. "I don't want anybody else to die for me."

"Well, that is just too bad isn't it?" Catherine snapped. "You are a leader, John Connor. Like it or not that is your burden. You do not get to toss it aside just because you are tired."

The light, the blazing fire in Connor's eyes sprang back into view. "You know Catherine, my mother was right."

"In what way?"

John grinned. "You are a bitch."

Catherine actually laughed aloud. The crisis had passed. "Only when I have to be."

"Help me sit up," John said, his voice resonating with a new vitality.

Catherine pulled him into a sitting position and placed a pillow behind his back.

"You had better leave now. Tell Cameron I will come and visit as soon as I can get out of here, and Catherine..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you and please thank John Henry for me."

"You are more than welcome, Sergeant Connor."

John waited until Catherine had left the room before calling out in a loud voice, "Hey, does a man have to starve to death in this place before someone brings him something to eat?"

The airplane rolled to a stop by the private hangar. As they unbuckled their seat belts and rose to their feet, Catherine looked at Sarah. "I once warned John Henry that humans would disappoint him. There is an exception. Your son will never disappoint him. John Connor may not always win, but he will never disappoint."


	8. Chapter 8

**Beside Us To Guide Us**

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There were no playgrounds in the tunnels. The crowded refuge of a hunted humanity had little space to spare for frivolous purposes. Toys and even the unforced laughter of children were in equally short supply. To be young no longer meant innocence but only a greater sense of vulnerability. The burdens of survival fell on small shoulders far earlier than they did before J Day.

Today, however, six children from the D corridor had found a place where they might try to restore their youth, if only for an agonizingly short time. The dilapidated room off the main tunnel had been used as a transit storage point; a place to stack supplies before they were distributed throughout the underground complex. Lately provisions had become harder and harder to acquire. Box by box the room had emptied out. A single low wattage bulb in a corner fixture illuminated the scarred block walls and dirty cement floor. The bare room was hardly a thing of beauty but for the moment it belonged to them.

The two older boys, about eight or nine, had found an old baseball. The stitching was barely holding together but it was still something that could be tossed back and forth. Two smaller boys, evidently brothers from their shared appearance, and a young girl had drawn a rough circle in the dirty floor and were playing marbles with four small glass balls. The little girl had carried the marbles in a tiny cloth bag before distributing them with all the elaborate ceremony appropriate to the treasures she was sharing. The remaining child, a younger girl, sat apart cradling what she still treated as a doll.

One of the small plastic figure's arms was broken, the legs were twisted and the original head was missing. Someone had carved a replacement from a small piece of wood then painted in eyes and a mouth. The new head tilted loosely on the doll's neck. There was little about the repaired figure that could be called pretty but the little girl clung to it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Perhaps in her world it was.

The young officer with the shiny new lieutenant's bars stood in the door and watched the children. Part of him desperately wanted to believe he was seeing evidence of human resilience-an unconquerable determination to preserve a small semblance of normality in a devastated world. But that effort recoiled from his awareness of the emotional flatness in the children. There was no real joy. They displayed no sign of pleasure. They played more by rote than by choice. It was as if their instincts and not their desires were telling them what they should do.

The two boys with the baseball began to argue over who could catch the harder thrown ball. As they exchanged words the ball began to fly with increasing intensity. Inevitably one of the boys missed his catch and the ball struck the wall before ricocheting across the room. The little girl sitting on the floor tried to dodge but the baseball struck her doll and knocked away the carved head. As she watched in helpless dismay, the head bounced and rolled over the floor before disappearing into a hole where an old drain had been.

With a wail of anguish the little girl threw herself across the room. She plunged her small arm into the hole in the floor crying out, "Ginny! Ginny!" But if the head was still there it was beyond her reach.

The young lieutenant could not restrain himself. He stepped quickly into the room and knelt beside the weeping child. He turned his head so she would not see him wince from the pain in his right side.

"Let me try. My arm is a little longer."

He stretched out on the floor and thrust his left arm down the old drain. There was an L-shaped fixture at the bottom and his fingertips could just touch the piece of wood that had lodged there. At first he couldn't quite grasp it but then he jammed his arm harder against the cement. He could feel the ragged surface at the top of the drain pinch sharply against his flesh. Then he had the head between his fingers. Exhaling a long sigh of relief he pulled it out of the drain.

The water processor in this sector had not been working regularly so there had been almost no liquid to spare for personal hygiene. The little girl had not had the luxury of even a sponge bath for a long time. The line of tears had left a distinct trail down her grimy cheeks as she had mourned her lost toy. But now the tears were gone and a smile of genuine happiness entered the room.

"Thank you! Thank you!" The child joyfully rejoined head and body.

"You're welcome." The young officer smiled as he got back to his feet once again hiding the twinge of pain from his side.

"What's your name?"

"Sarah," the little girl replied.

The smile on the young officer's face faded. "That was my mother's name."

The other children had stopped their activity and gathered around.

"You are Lieutenant John Connor aren't you?" asked one of the ball players, the one that couldn't catch.

"Yes, I am."

"My dad pointed you out to me. He said you were very brave."

John shook his head. "I'm just a soldier, kid. I'm no braver than anyone else."

As John looked at the children he experienced a sudden understanding. None of them was more than ten years old. They had no memory of the world before J Day. None of them had ever played outdoors, felt the sun or the Spring rain on their faces or thrown a snowball. It was no wonder they didn't know how to play.

"I had better go now guys. I'm supposed to be at headquarters."

"Goodbye Lieutenant Connor," Sarah said.

"You can call me John, Sarah."

"Goodbye John."

"John?"

"John?"

"John!"

John snapped out of his reverie. Cameron was staring at him with an expression of quizzical bemusement.

"I'm sorry,Cam. I guess my mind was wandering."

"Yes, I noticed."

From the giggles coming from the end of the table it appeared that Savannah and Marissa had noticed as well. Only Allison, still trying to decide whether to eat or wear the applesauce on her plate, was oblivious to John's lapse of concentration.

"I was asking whether you wanted anything else for lunch?"

John shook his head as he rose from the dining room table. He walked to the window and looked out at the city of San Francisco. Cameron assumed that he was worried about Sarah on her way to Los Angeles with Catherine. She was trying to think of something reassuring to say when he suddenly turned back toward the table. To her surprise his face glowed with a broad smile.

"It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining. The sky is clear. It's too nice to stay cooped up in the house." John winked at Marissa and Savannah. "I think we should all put on our play clothes and go to the park."

Marissa clapped her hands with glee and Savannah seemed equally pleased. But then her face clouded. "John, I have afternoon lessons with John Henry." John let a hint of conspiracy slip into his smile. "Flametop, I'll write you a note."

As the two older girls dashed upstairs to change clothes, Cameron gently retrieved Allison from her high chair. John marveled once again at the child's response to Cameron's touch. Happiness flowed from her like bubbles in champagne. And Cameron's expression whenever her brown eyes met Allison's instantly became one of boundless contentment. The bond between the two was fast becoming unbreakable.

"Do you think it is safe to go out like this John, to take the girls into public view?" Cameron was not actually opposing John's plan but she could not completely disguise her concerns.

"They will be with us Cameron. That is as safe as they can be. I don't want them to grow up without memories of playing in the sun." John's recollection of little Sarah's battered doll lurked in the tone of his voice.

Vista Heights Park was on the western side of the city on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It had been built as a playground more than a century before and lovingly preserved through earthquakes, economic distress and the aggressive attention of countless children. The centerpiece was and always had been the giant carousel. From one of its sixty-six exotic and colorful wooden creatures a young rider could listen to the ompah of the German Band Organ while watching the ocean and the park alternatively swirl into view.

John and Cameron had changed into running suits and athletic shoes. Both wore jackets long enough to cover the pistols resting in the small of their back. Cameron had pinned up her long brown hair and covered it with a pink baseball cap. Her dark sunglasses completed the effort at disguise.

Savannah and Marissa literally raced each other to the carousel laughing in delight at the sight of its fantastic mounts. Savannah slowed down just enough to let Marissa beat her to the bounding tiger with a recumbent angel carved on its side. She satisfied herself with the rearing elephant two rows further up. Since Allison met neither the age nor height limit to ride alone, Cameron stood beside the traditional wooden horse and held the child in the seat. Standing at the side John watched happily as the music rang out and the colorful menagerie began its circular journey.

Once they were on the carousel John began to fear that he would have to pry the girls off. Savannah and Marissa seemed determined to ride every one of the fantastic creatures. Allison giggled more exuberantly with each rotation. But finally they were all ready to try something else. Holding hands the two older girls skipped toward the swings.

"Flametop," John whispered to himself still using the nickname that seemed to generate Catherine's disapproval. "You make a wonderful big sister."

As the afternoon wore on John and Cameron led their young companions to the overlook platform on the edge of the bluff. From there they could look up and down the beach below and out into the ocean. A soft wind had stirred up the whitecaps while the afternoon sun was giving a golden tint to the water. A few hundred yards off shore three large rocks thrust up from the Pacific, their white peaks glittering in the sun. As the girls watched intently a number of small creatures could be seen climbing on the rocks.

"John, what are those?" Savannah asked.

"Seals. At certain times during the year they like to play on those rocks."

Marissa's eyes opened wide in wonder. "Can we go down and look at them? Please?"

There was a wooden stairway from the observation platform leading down to the beach below. John glanced at his watch and then smiled. "I think we have time to do that."

As they strolled up the beach Savannah and Marissa ran ahead to get a closer look at the seals' domain. "Do you think that I should tell them why the rocks are white?" John asked in a bland tone.

For the briefest of moments Cameron actually looked exasperated. "You and your guide books. No, you should not tell them that it is bird excrement."

John laughed. "I think someone else has read a guidebook too. Let's sit down for a while Cameron. They want to watch the seals."

Cameron nodded and gracefully slipped down into a seated position on the sand. The day's exertion had for the moment caught up with Allison and she slumbered in Cameron's arms. John sat down shoulder to shoulder and put his arm around Cameron's waist. There were times that he hated Skynet more than others. At the thought of losing what he had at that moment, he realized that this was one of those times.

He turned toward Cameron and watched her slowly and lovingly caress Allison's hair. Suddenly he realized that Cameron looked unusually pensive-almost painfully so.

"John, why haven't you ever asked me about Allison?"

"What do you mean, Cam?"

"You aren't blind John. You can plainly see that there is a physical connection between us. There always has been. When we were in the future, Allison was grown and we looked so much alike that even you were misled. Years ago after the car explosion and I malfunctioned, I thought I was her. You know all of that but you have never asked me anything about it. Why?"

"Cameron, I have always believed that when you were ready you would tell me everything you wanted me to know."

"John, there things I know because I remember them and there are things I know only because I have been told about them. When John Henry transferred my essence to a clean chip without the Skynet directives, I lost all knowledge of my creation. My memories begin now when Future John reprogramed me. But I can recall that there were people then who whispered the name Allison when I passed and looked at me with a dark hatred on their face.

Cameron took off her sunglasses and rubbed her hand across her eyes. John could see the pain in her face. He waited silently for her to continue.

"You know that there can only be one reason why she and I are so much alike. Skynet built me as an infiltrator and used her as a model.

Cameron abruptly raised her head and looked out toward the incoming surf. "Marissa, please do not get too close to the water, dear."

Cameron's voice trembled as she tried to control her feelings. "If I was intended to replace her so I could infiltrate the resistance, I must have hurt her. Each word she spoke now seemed to cause pain. "John, I must have killed her."

Allison stirred for a moment as Cameron slightly tightened her embrace. To John's surprise he saw tears slide down her cheeks. He had never seen Cameron cry before.

"All right Cameron, look at me. Listen to me." John reached out and brushed the tears from her face. "You...YOU did not hurt Allison. The person that you are now is not the Skynet slave that once existed. If something hurt Allison in some other time it was not you."

John reached down and lightly touched Allison's cheek. "I will prove it to you. Tell me how you feel about this child."

Cameron looked as if the answer to his question was beyond obvious. "I love her, John .I love her and I love Marissa."

"Would you ever do anything to harm either one of them?"

Cameron appeared horrified by even the suggestion. "No. No, I would not."

John stood and held out his hand. "That's all that matters isn't it? That is all that will ever matter."

John pulled Cameron to her feet just as Allison's brown eyes snapped open. She looked up at the two of them and smiled.

"We had better gather up our gang and go home. Mom and Catherine ought to be in Los Angeles by now. We need to go check on Thelma and Louise."

The silence had not yet become uncomfortable but it was moving in that direction. Sarah sat stiffly in the armchair in front of James Ellison's desk and waited for the head of Zeira Corporation's Security Operations to say something-anything. Ellison seemed equally determined that the conversation would begin with her.

Finally, Ellison, as had many others before, surrendered to the implacable will that was Sarah Connor.

"You still aren't sure that you trust me, are you, Sarah?"

"When it comes to my son, Mr. Ellison, I am not sure that I trust anyone except me."

Ellison nodded briefly as if acknowledging an obvious truth. Then his face became resolute, undeterred by any doubts Sarah might harbor against him.

"This may sound cruel, Sarah, but you know you aren't enough anymore. He isn't a little boy that just needs his mother. He is a soldier fighting a war. A war we have to win. He requires subordinates who will carry out his plans and follow him loyally. You may never fully trust me Sarah but I believe John does."

Ellison took a deep breath before continuing. "I promise you one thing. John will never have reason to regret the faith he has put in me."

The force of Ellison's declaration had an almost physical impact on Sarah. It was one more confirmation that John had truly become the warrior she had wanted him to be. He was a leader. Men and machines rallied to him, supported him, even loved him. Instead of triumph, however, Sarah could not escape a weary feeling of sadness. She would always be his mother. John would always love her. But she would never again occupy the same central position in his life. John belonged to the cause and not to her. The sense of loss was achingly real.

Get your mind on something else, Sarah, she thought. Remember why you are here.

"Let's talk about Danny Dyson. Have you found out anything about him?"

Ellison looked relieved that the conversation had shifted to something more concrete.

"Actually, quite a bit." Ellison took a file from a desk drawer and pushed it over to Sarah. "Danny Dyson is nineteen years old. He was, until he disappeared, a sophomore at Caltech on a full academic scholarship. His professors describe him as brilliant, perhaps even a genius. In fact, those that knew Miles Dyson think Danny might be intellectually superior to his father."

Sarah opened the file and looked at the photographs. She realized with a start how long it had been since she had seen Danny. The pictures including one that appeared to have been taken at his high school graduation showed a young man whose resemblance to his father had become more apparent. Tarissa was standing at his side gleaming with motherly pride and in that frozen moment without the deep sadness that had lurked in her eyes since Miles' death.

"Danny was following in his father's footsteps, studying computer technology and advanced software design. Shortly before he disappeared he had written a paper on knowledge acquisition programs that was nominated for a national student prize."

"When did he disappear?" Sarah asked.

"November 23 of last year. Just over a week after his paper was submitted to the competition board."

"You think there is a connection?"

"I can't be certain," Ellison answered, "and I don't want to speculate-at least not yet. I do know that the weekend before he vanished he drove into town to visit his mother, something he had not been doing regularly, and that this girl was with him." Ellison slid the picture to Sarah.

Sarah examined the photograph of an attractive young African-American woman, smiling happily for the camera.

"Who is she?"

"Angella Jessup, also a gifted student at Caltech and, according to young Dyson's friends, his inseparable companion for the last three months before he fell off the edge of the Earth."

"Is she..."

"Yes," Ellison anticipated the question, "she is missing as well." Ellison leaned forward in his chair. "The thing I find most surprising is that the missing person's report for Danny Dyson was filed by the University and not by his mother. My sources tell me that she hasn't even been particularly cooperative in the investigation. And there is a tap on her telephone line right now that was not placed there by any law enforcement agency."

Sarah looked again at the file and then at Ellison. "Impressive," Sarah conceded almost grudgingly. "You said you didn't want to speculate but do it anyway. Tell me what you think."

Ellison rose from his chair and began to pace across the room. "My instinct, my gut, tells me that something frightened young Dyson. He came home with his girlfriend to talk to his mother and then he ran. He isn't missing, he is hiding. I think something was looking for him then and it is still looking."

For the first time Sarah heard the fatigue in Ellison's voice. Following John Connor was not without cost. Everyone who chose that course would have a price to pay.

"You sound as if you have been working hard."

"Not nearly as hard as he may have to work."

Sarah and Ellison looked up as Catherine Weaver entered the room. She was displaying her best dress for success appearance-a delicately tailored blue suit, high. But not too high, heeled shoes, an expensive wristwatch, and a pair of diamond earrings that bespoke a restrained but elegant good taste. Catherine Weaver, Chairman of the Board and CEO, had crafted her image to perfection.

Ellison stood as Catherine entered his office. Even his awareness of her true nature could not overcome his ingrained habits of polite behavior.

"I hope your meeting with Mr. Murch was satisfactory."

Catherine looked quietly pleased. "Mr. Murch has been doing well. He has more than met my expectations. Let us hope that your security apparatus exhibits the same high quality."

Ellison glanced quickly first at Weaver and then at Sarah. "I think you will both find that we have put together an organization that satisfies the request John made of me."

Sarah looked at Catherine and a ghost of a smile bounced from one to the other. James Ellison had just reminded them in a not terribly subtle fashion that he worked for John and not for them.

Helga, the cast-iron lady, stuck her head into the office. "Mr. Ellison, the section chiefs are assembled in the conference room."

Ellison nodded in response. "Mrs. Weaver, if you will come with me I will introduce you to the section chiefs of Zeira Corporation Security. I am sure you will find their reports interesting."

Sarah started to rise from her chair but Ellison held out his palm. "I think it would be better, Sarah, if you stayed here."

He reached over and turned on a television set resting on one of his file cabinets. "This is a closed circuit feed from the conference room. You can see and hear everything. Those people don't know that they are working for John Connor. If one of them were to recognize you it would cause...complications."

Sarah knew instantly that Ellison's logic was unassailable. She sat back down and turned her attention to the television screen. Moments later the door to the room she was observing opened and Catherine, followed by Ellison, entered. The two men and one woman seated at the table rose. The briefing began.

Sarah remembered what John had told Ellison. "I need a combined FBI, CIA,and Secret Service." Ellison had obviously tried to satisfy that request. The people sitting at the conference table were the embodiment of what John had asked.

Jacob Martin Duquesne, a tall, powerfully built man with gun-metal gray hair and fiercely probing dark eyes was a former navy seal and veteran of the CIA. A specialist in protective services he had headed security operations for the presidents of two particularly violent countries and for an Italian judge threatened with assassination by the mafia. No one under his protection had ever been hurt. Those individuals who had challenged his skills had not been so fortunate. Duquesne was Chief of Personal Security.

Elliot Martin Shaw, a small, balding man with ears so large they almost looked comic and thick, wire-framed glasses resembled either a displaced owl or an ineffectual college professor. He was neither. Shaw had served in the FBI for twenty years. An expert in internal affairs and interrogation techniques, he had recently served as a consultant with three large city police departments. Shaw was Chief of Data Acquisition. Marie Michelle Williams was an elegantly beautiful, tall, dark-haired woman who would not have looked out of place at the most elaborate and expensive society soirée. Fully aware of her own beauty, she had used it quite deliberately to infiltrate and undermine several European and South American terrorist organizations during her service with the CIA. Nicknamed Emma Peel by her admiring CIA colleagues, Rogers was Chief of Overseas Relations.

Sarah listened to the introductions with a growing sense of appreciation. A significant amount of money sat around the conference table. Talent of that caliber did not come cheap. John would be pleased, she thought. Ellison had given him the organization he wanted.

The briefing was even more impressive. On every issue, every company, every individual there was a ready response. Sarah felt her head was spinning from the sheer volume of information. File after file slid across the table to Catherine who carefully placed each one in a briefcase. John was going to have a lot of reading to do when they got home.

"When are we going to go see Tarissa Dyson?" Sarah asked impatiently. Ellison rubbed the back of his neck and looked into the night outside his office window. "Soon," he said. "I like to wait until I'm sure that Murch is safely headed home before I leave."

As if on cue Helga was in the doorway to the outer office. "Mr. Murch is on his way down. The security vehicles are waiting for him."

"Thank you, Helga. Would you have my car brought around please?"

As Helga left to deal with Ellison's request, Sarah looked at the empty doorway. "Your secretary works long hours," she observed.

"She won't leave until I do. I have tried to change her mind but she is...determined."

Loyalty, Sarah thought. This place oozes loyalty.

Tarissa Dyson still lived in the two level brick home she and Miles had built when he became an executive at Cyberdyne. Gateway Village was an upscale but not ostentatiously expensive development. It was the neighborhood where they wanted to raise their son. It was where she had raised Danny alone after Miles' death. It was where she still wanted to live even after Danny had left for Caltech. And from the perspective of Hector Jameson it was an entirely satisfactory residence located just across the street from the grove of trees that gave him a perfect place for covert observation.

Jameson still thought of himself as a private detective even if the licensing authority of the state of California took a different view. The pencil-necked bureaucrats could not understand that what they deemed to be sexual harassment, misappropriation of funds, and witness tampering were all within the bounds of solid investigative techniques. At least tonight he was being paid as a detective and not as a third-rate paparazzi, an occupation that had generated most of his income of late. Five nights a week, he watched outside the Dyson woman's house between 8 and 12 and photographed her visitors.

The problem was that the damned woman didn't have visitors. The bonus promised for photographs remained unpaid. No one came to the house. She never left. Hiding in the trees, clutching the camera he never got to use had become boring as hell. It was the boredom that almost caused him to miss the car pulling into the driveway.

It was an expensive car, a dark green Mercedes. A lot more than he could afford. Jameson swung his camera up and prepared to snap pictures. The driver got out, a large black guy, nice suit. Yeah right, Jameson thought, his kind would have that sort of car. The driver walked around and opened the front passenger door. A small redhead got out. Well, well, Jameson thought, that's Catherine Weaver. He had seen her on TV after that attack on her company-Zero Corporation, or something like that. He continued to snap pictures. The bonus gets paid tonight.

The black guy opened the rear door and a slim black-haired woman got out. She was kind of pretty and looked sort of familiar. He snapped a few more photographs before the revelation exploded on him.

HOLY SHIT! That's Sarah Connor! The most wanted fugitive in California history. What was the reward on her? He couldn't remember but that didn't matter. It was a lot. And a lot was more than he had.

The three of them walked to the door and rang the bell. Jameson pushed the auto-shutter down and took picture after picture as Tarissa Dyson opened the door. In his view finder he could see the shock and then the resignation on the black woman's face as she motioned them inside. The door closed and Jameson smiled.

He reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone before remembering that he had left it in the car. He had angrily tossed it aside after arguing with his ex-wife about child support-unpaid child support. Hell, the kid probably wasn't even his. But that was all right now. His car was just up the block. Walking there would give him time to think. Who should he call first? The LAPD or whoever had the reward, his employer, the TV stations, the tabloids... So much money to be made,so little time.

Tarissa Dyson looked at her three unexpected guests and shook her head wearily. Sarah moved in more exalted company these days even with the police chasing her.

"I don't know why I should be surprised to see you Sarah. Whenever something bad happens to my family you are never far away."

"Tarissa, please." Sarah tried to keep her voice low. "I had nothing..."

Tarissa angrily interrupted. "I know! I know. You had nothing to do with my son's disappearance."

"I didn't! I didn't even know that Danny was missing until the FBI agent, Aldridge, told me when I was in jail."

"It will still be tied to you somehow, Sarah. It always is. And I suppose you are going to tell me you aren't here looking for Plato's Cave."

Sarah looked mystified. "Plato's Cave? What's that? I don't..."

For a split second Tarissa Dyson looked genuinely surprised. "You don't know. You really don't know do you?"

Sarah shook her head silently.

"The last time I saw Danny he and his girlfriend Angella got here about 9 PM. They both looked nervous, even scared. Angella stayed by the window as if she was looking for something and afraid she would see it. Danny went to his old room and started to search it almost frantically. When I asked what he was looking for, he said Plato's Cave."

For the first time Catherine spoke. "You still have not said. What is Plato's Cave?"

"Its just a game-a child's game. Miles designed it especially for Danny as a present for his ninth birthday. Miles said it would help Danny learn advanced math. I hadn't seen it in years."

"Did Danny find it?" Sarah asked.

"No, and after he looked for almost an hour, he told me they had to leave. He hugged me and kissed my forehead. He hadn't done that since he was in high school. He promised he would call and he left with Angella."

Tarissa had been pacing in an increasingly agitated state but now she stopped and looked directly at Sarah. "You have a son. You know when he is hiding something. I knew that night that Danny and Angella weren't going back to school...that they were running from something. But I let him go. I let him walk out my door and I haven't seen him since."

Sarah remembered the basement in the old Zeira Corporation. She remembered the despair she felt staring at the empty space where John had been. "Sometimes they go and you can't stop them."

Catherine tried to break the mood of maternal anguish. "So you don't know where the game is?"

"I do now," Tarissa said. "I found it in a box of books in the attic, two weeks after he left."

"Where is it now?" Sarah tried to maintain an even tone.

Tarissa opened a large book of travel photographs lying on the coffee table. "Right here." She flipped a compact disk case to Sarah.

Sarah snatched the plastic case out of the air and examined it with a growing sense of wonder. On one side a cover showed an image of a fire burning in a cave. On the wall beyond the fire the shadows of men and animals drew the eye away from the blaze. Above the picture in block letters were the words PLATO'S CAVE. The other side of the case was blank except for two small typed sentences at the bottom. "Game design by Miles Dyson. Technical assistance by student intern, Andrew Goode."

Her hands were shaking when she handed the case to Weaver. "Catherine, look at that."

Catherine was equally transfixed. "This may well be it. This might be the link that ties Miles Dyson, Andrew Goode and Skynet together. John Henry needs to examine this as soon as possible."

"NO!" Tarissa jerked the case out of Catherine's hand and backed away. "This is mine! You aren't going to get it unless I get something in return."

"You want money?" Catherine asked.

"Don't be stupid!" Tarissa snapped. Catherine's eyes opened wide. She was not accustomed to being called stupid.

"I want my son back. I can't trust the police or the FBI or anyone else. In some strange way, Sarah, I know you and your friends are the only ones that would never betray him. So someone is going to promise me to bring my son back or no one gets this."

Sarah glanced at Catherine and realized she was about to take more forceful action. Suddenly Ellison intervened. He had not spoken since they entered the house but he had studied Tarissa intently. Somehow her anguish seemed to resonate with feelings of loss that he carried. Ellison stepped between Tarissa and Catherine. He looked directly into her eyes and spoke with all the quiet force he could muster. "Mrs. Dyson, Tarissa, I won't promise you that I will find Danny. But I will promise to look for him with every bit of skill I have and if we find him we will protect him and bring him home to you."

Tarissa stared at Ellison for what seemed an eternity. No one moved in the room. Then Tarissa began to sob and sank down into a chair. She looked at James Ellison, nodded wordlessly and handed him the plastic case.

As he opened the car door Hector Jameson made up his mind. Call the police first. The reward was for information leading to capture. Better get the cops here fast before she could leave.

Jameson fumbled for his cell phone, found it in the glow from the dome light and was preparing to dial when the voice spoke.

"Good evening." The tone was soft, almost gentle, but still somehow chilling in some undefinable way.

Jameson looked up to see a sharply dressed hispanic guy standing beside his car. In the diffused glow from the dome light the man had an elegantly graceful appearance that Jameson almost envied. Almost.

"Who the hell are you, Chico?" Jameson snapped contemptuously. "What do you want?"

"My name is Emilio Garza. I have been asked to bring you greetings."

"Greetings?" Jameson was confused.

"Yes. Greetings from John Connor."

For a minute Jameson was still confused and then the name John Connor registered. He looked at Garza and saw the animation fade out of his eyes. Jameson no longer had a valid gun permit but he carried the pistol in the ankle holster anyway. Frantically, he reached for his gun. Too slow. Far too slow.

As he strolled casually up the sidewalk Garza twirled the camera by its neck strap. With his other hand he flipped open his cell phone and pushed the speed dial.

"Yes, Chola, it's me. You may tell your friend that there was a problem but I have resolved it. I will see you soon."

Walking away from the street lights, Emilio Garza vanished into the darkness.

John shoved his knight forward attempting to exert pressure in the middle of the board. Without hesitation John Henry immediately launched an exchange of pieces. At the end of the flurry of movement John's knight was gone and his positional advantage had ebbed away.

"So they are coming home tonight?" John asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Weaver actually sounded excited about some of the material they have acquired. She seemed to believe that we would both find it valuable."

"Check," John announced, thrusting his queen onto a black diagonal.

John Henry smiled-that gentle, rueful expression that always preceded some thunderously effective countermove.

"A bit premature, don't you think, John? Perhaps somewhat overly aggressive?"

"Once in a while, John Henry, I would like to think that one of my moves could cause you at least some momentary distress."

"That may yet happen, John. But not tonight."

John Henry moved his bishop to block the check simultaneously unmasking a rook to threaten one of John's exposed pawns. John Henry's positional advantage was about to become a material advantage as well.

"And please do not think you will achieve three repetitions tonight. I am alert to that as well."

John leaned back in his chair, looked at the board and laughed. "I didn't think I would get away with that again. It's been my experience that a surprise attack only works once."

The teasing good humor left John Henry's face. "But if your plan is successful, once may be enough."

"Let's hope so," John answered. He studied the board for a prolonged period before looking up at his opponent. "Mate in seven?"

"Actually, I believe six," John Henry replied.

John stood and held out his hand. "I think I'm going to spare myself the humiliation. I resign."

John Henry shook his hand. "Better luck next time."

"Or the time after that, or the time after that... But what does it matter if the field be lost so long as we maintain the unconquerable will and the courage never to submit or yield?"

John Henry smiled broadly. "You have been reading Milton."

"Just enough to keep up with you my educated friend. Good night, John Henry."

As John came up from the headquarters into the theater room, the last musical notes of the dancing penguin video were fading away. Cameron sat on the couch flanked on either side by Marissa and Savannah. Allison, comfortably nestled on Cameron's lap, still gazed at the television screen. She was too young to understand the story, but the color, movement, and music all enthralled her.

Standing in the doorway, John was suddenly overcome by a memory. Years ago, before the jump to the future, Sarah had ordered Cameron to help with some household chores. John remembered making a smart-aleck crack, something like "The most efficient killing machine ever designed and you've got her doing laundry."

An efficient killing machine. God, John thought, how had he ever been able to characterize Cameron so callously? How could he ever have dismissed the miracle she was so thoughtlessly? Of course she was a machine then. She still was. But she followed her heart and not some mechanically imposed programing. Why, he wondered, had it taken him so long to grasp that essential truth?

Cameron had heard him come up the steps. She turned her head and rewarded him with that special shy smile she reserved for him alone. "I think it's time for little girls to go to bed, don't you John?"

John rocked back and forth in the large wooden chair in Marissa and Allison's room. From beyond the closed bathroom door he could hear splashes of water, giggles, laughs, and occasionally Cameron's voice, soft but commanding. Evidently preparing two children for bed after a day of energetic play was a fully interactive enterprise.

The door to the hallway opened and a smiling face framed by a mass of red hair peeked in. Seeing John in the chair she dashed up to him.

"I forgot to say thank you. Thank you for taking me to the park. I had a great time."

John leaned forward to hug her. "I'm glad you had fun. And you are very welcome Savannah."

Savannah stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then she winked. "Flametop," she whispered and hurried out of the room.

Almost simultaneously the bathroom door opened and Cameron came out leading Marissa by the hand and carrying Allison. Both girls were in their nightgowns and their hair was neatly combed. Cameron on the other hand looked slightly disheveled and even a little frazzled. For a moment it appeared as if her cyborg strength had been severely tested. But then she smiled broadly and deposited Allison in John's lap.

"Your turn," Cameron said.

"I don't hum, whistle, or sing," John said, grinning.

"Just rock, John. That will be enough."

It was. As the motion of the chair fell into a gentle rhythm, Allison followed the sensation into sleep. Still cradling her in his embrace, John glanced over at Marissa and Cameron.

Cameron was tucking the cover over the little girl when she raised up and whispered something. John could not hear the exchange, but he could see a sudden change in Cameron's facial expression. She leaned forward, whispered a response, and kissed Marissa on the cheek.

Moments later they switched off the overhead bedroom light leaving only the faint glow of a child's nightlight in the room. John thought again, almost involuntarily, of little Sarah clinging to her battered doll. As if talking to Marissa and Allison he whispered softly. "Remember today," he pleaded. "Never forget what it is like to play in the sun."

Cameron had taken his hand to lead him to their room when he abruptly stopped.

"What were you and Marissa whispering about?" Cameron looked up at him and for the second time today he could see the glistening sheen of tears in her eyes.

"She asked if it would be all right if she called me mommy."

John cupped Cameron's face in his hands and lightly kissed her. He did not need to ask what her answer had been.

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A/N: Lest anyone from San Francisco be upset with me, let me acknowledge that there is no Vista Heights Park. It is a fictional creation blending attributes of two other parks in the city.


	9. Chapter 9

To Escape Tribulation

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"How long have they been down there?" Sarah's question was both inquiry and barely repressed exasperation.

"Six hours, thirty-seven minutes, forty-three seconds." Catherine looked up from her seated position on the couch. Savannah was curled up beside her, a book open to the page she had been reading aloud before Sarah's interruption.

"Well, thank you Madame Precision. Does a bird pop out of your mouth on the hour?"

Savannah giggled at Sarah's jab. Catherine simply shook her head, creating an air of stoically dignified endurance.

"It is no use being impatient, Sarah. We brought them a good deal of material from Los Angeles. They are not going to stop until they have analyzed all of that information."

Sarah slumped down into one of the theater room's comfortable armchairs with slightly more emphasis than necessary. Damn, she thought. I hate it when she's right. The problem was, as Sarah reluctantly conceded to herself, Catherine was right most of the time. They had returned from their trip with a treasure trove of new information. The multiple files amassed by James Ellison's security people alone would require substantial time to review. But they had also brought the game...the game...Plato's Cave.

From the moment they had each held the slender plastic case in their hands and seen the reference to Myles Dyson and Andrew Goode on the back both Sarah and Catherine had been shaken. The importance of this child's plaything was incalculable. Certainly, the irony of it all was breathtaking. A present created by a loving father for his son's ninth birthday might contain the key to the looming threat of annihilation on Judgement Day. Certainly, Danny Dyson thought that his old toy was valuable enough to delay his flight from some unknown menace in a fruitless effort to find it. And now John and his brilliant metal friend were studying it. Sarah desperately wanted to know what they had discovered. She also found Catherine's placid equanimity irritating beyond all measure.

It would have lessened Sarah's distress if she had known just how much of Catherine Weaver's facade was just that-a facade that masked her own turmoil. Even as she sat with her arm around Savannah's shoulder listening to her...her...Yes, her daughter, read aloud, Catherine was focusing another part of her consciousness on the blank wall. The heavy steel door to the old fallout shelter hidden in that wall was rarely closed. By shutting it now Captain Connor and John Henry were unmistakably informing both Catherine and Sarah that their assistance was not presently required. The only thing that eased Catherine's frustration with that exclusion was the delicious certainty that Sarah was even more frustrated. Guilty pleasures were the best after all.

Sarah looked up as she heard the sound of running feet approaching from the gymnasium. Cameron had insisted that her two girls go upstairs for a nap after lunch. Sarah felt her thoughts go into an abrupt tailspin. Her two...Cameron's two. How easily that concept had just rolled through her mind. Once again Sarah Connor experienced the disorienting sensation of the ground cracking beneath her feet. It still did not seem possible. How had Cameron gone from being a shattered machine to what she so clearly was now-John's loving companion, the woman he wanted to marry, and in all ways that mattered the mother of two little girls who obviously adored her? Where did fantasy end and reality begin?

The answer to Sarah's question dashed into the room. Marissa was wearing shorts, a tee shirt and her new ballet slippers. Her dark eyes glistened with excitement and a happy smile set her face aglow.

"Savannah, it's ballet time!" Marissa's voice bubbled with anticipation. At first she had been somewhat ambivalent about Cameron's dance instruction. But as she realized that ballet class was an activity she could share with her new best friend, her own enthusiasm had taken root.

Sarah glanced at Savannah who was clearly undergoing a moment of emotional conflict. The child had fallen in love with ballet the first time she had seen Cameron dance. Daily dance instruction was now a precious part of her young life. But Catherine had been away and Savannah had missed her terribly. To leave her mother now somehow seemed wrong.

Sarah watched approvingly as Catherine deftly resolved Savannah's dilemma.

"Go ahead, dear. Go to your dance lessons and we will continue reading the book after you finish."

Savannah smiled with pleasure and with relief. "Thank you mommy." She leaned up to kiss Catherine on the cheek and then jumped from the couch.

"Come on, Marissa. I have to get my slippers."

The two girls raced from the room just as Cameron appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in her usual ballet training attire of leggings, bare mid-riff tee shirt and gold ballet slippers. As always seemed the case lately, she carried Allison firmly in her grasp with the child clinging to her neck as if it were a lifeline in a storm.

Sarah shook her head slightly. I don't know if I would recognize Cameron if she wasn't carrying Allison, she thought. Sarah was also immediately aware that Cameron seemed utterly unconcerned about the momentous events that were taking place in the headquarters. The light of revelation gleamed.

Cameron wasn't impatient. She wasn't irritated. She trusted John so completely that she was prepared to wait until he was finished no matter how long that took. Damn, Sarah thought, that is even more frustrating than Catherine's saint-like attitude.

Cameron pulled a box out of the corner and emptied a collection of toys onto the floor. Kneeling down she sat Allison amidst these youthful treasures. When she was satisfied that Allison's interest was fully engaged Cameron rose with her own special effortless grace and turned to Sarah.

"Would you mind watching her for me while I do ballet lessons?"

Badass babysitter, Sarah thought wearily. That's what I am now, the badass babysitter.

The faint rhythm of piano music drifted in from the gymnasium. Marissa and Savannah had already turned on CD player.

"I'll watch her," Sarah answered with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Cameron looked for a moment as if she wanted to say something else but then she nodded and walked toward the gymnasium where her pupils waited. The theater room took on its own special dynamic. Catherine sat staring off into space contemplating matters that could not be discerned from her emotionless expression. Allison examined and discarded one toy after another in a search for the perfect plaything. Sarah tried to focus her fragmented attention on the activities of a toddler.

Suddenly Allison climbed unsteadily to her feet and wobbled over to Sarah. When she reached her destination she reached out and grabbed Sarah's leg for support. Allison tilted her little face upward and looked at Sarah with a deeply serious, unsmiling intensity. It was if she were examining some strange alien creature trying to determine its nature.

And then she smiled, an unrestrained expression of pure pleasure accentuated by the bright light in her brown eyes, Cameron's eyes.

Allison held out her arms to Sarah asking to be picked up, asking to be embraced, asking to be loved. Sarah gritted her teeth and tried to look away. Then like a house of cards her resistance crumbled and collapsed.

OH DAMN! Sarah thought as she gathered the miniature version of Cameron into her arms. I don't need this. I don't need something else to care about, to worry about. But as she felt little arms go around her neck one thought echoed again and again through her mind.

Too late! Too late! Too late!

Sarah looked into Allison's eyes and whispered softly "I know you can't talk yet little one. When you learn, Granny better not be in your vocabulary."

Time, the measure of existence that was moving with such agonizing slowness in Sarah Connor's world, did not exist in the headquarters. As John and John Henry read files, made notes, examined photographs and passed the fruits of James Ellison's investigation back and forth, the minutes and seconds of the clock froze into place. Only the objective remained. Identify the resources Skynet possessed and plan their destruction. Time was irrelevant.

"What is your best estimate, John Henry?"

"Possibly as long as two years. If Mr. Ellison's people are correct in their assessments and if your plan inflicts all the damage that you intend, we may sufficiently disrupt my brother's operations that it will take him that long to rebuild."

"A lot of 'ifs' and 'maybes' in that answer John Henry."

"I am aware of that John but there may be variables we have not anticipated and you did ask for my best estimate."

John smiled wearily. "Touche."

They had been standing on opposite ends of the conference table looking down at the mass of photographs and drawings that covered every inch of the surface. Sensing the fatigue in John's voice, John Henry walked around and put his hand carefully on his shoulder.

"We can be certain of one thing, John. Everything we see here," John Henry pointed at the table, "the construction facility where Alfredo Garcia and his series 500 counterparts were built, this headquarters building in downtown Los Angeles, the trucking company, the Better Destiny Investment Group, the expansion of Kaleba, the Burkes and Armes Security Company, all took shape within the last thirty-one months. These are all my brother's assets. If we take them down he will have to expend time to rebuild.

John turned and stepped over to the blackboard where he had been taping up photographs and drawings all day.

"He will also have to replace every one of his servants we kill." There was a rasping visceral anger in John's voice made even more frightening by his low almost inaudible tone.

The photographs taken without their subjects' notice showed men standing outside a featureless commercial building or walking down a street in Los Angeles. There were also sketches of various individuals based on descriptions obtained from the severed terminator head still encased in a plastic cube in the corner. But one photograph in particular had repeatedly drawn John's attention. John Henry had noticed that on more than one occasion, John had stopped what he was doing and walked over to stare at it.

"Are you still certain of your identification, John?"

John looked again at the picture. It had been taken at what appeared to be the patio of a seaside restaurant. Palm trees in the near background and a gleaming ocean behind them suggested a tropical setting. A middle aged man sat at a table in the company of two attractive and scantily dressed young women. He had a high forehead, pale blue eyes and a long thin nose. His smile was that of a man enjoying a sunny afternoon in extremely pleasant company.

"Yes, I am, John Henry. That is Allan Rankin. General Allan Rankin, Chief of Intelligence for the Central LA Resistance Command."

Yes, you traitorous son of a bitch, John thought, I know you. I don't care if you call yourself Alastair Culhane now. You were the mole in our command structure. If I never do another thing in this life I will send you to hell.

"Now he is the Managing Director of the Better Destiny Investment Group."

"He won't be for much longer," John growled. "From the tunnels to a beach house in the Caymans. Skynet treats its pet human infiltrators well. Let's see if the bastard thinks it was worth it."

"He was on the Board of Inquiry that investigated your rescue of the Walton patrol wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was. The last time I saw that piece of scum he was trying to get me court martialed."

The memories that John had been suppressing all day overcame his weary resistance.

He could see Derek, Colonel Derek Reese, commander of the First Battalion standing in the doorway of the Company J command post. John stood and saluted but Derek barely returned it. He kept his stare focused on some point beyond John's shoulder. The Colonel didn't want to look directly into his eyes.

"Captain Connor, I am instructed by Central Resistance command to inform you that of this moment you are suspended from command of J Company. You will confine yourself to quarters until 9:00 AM tomorrow at which time you will present yourself to a Board of Inquiry that will convene at this location." Derek's voice was a monotone, all feeling, all life driven from it.

"Sounds like my ass is in a sling doesn't it, Colonel?"

"God damn it Johnny!" Now Derek was looking at him with an expression that mingled anger and worry. "You can't just go and start your own private war any time you want to."

If Derek thought his outburst would cow John, he was wrong.

"What was I supposed to do Colonel? Let Chris Walton and his men get slaughtered? Let the Grays cut the throats of those they didn't carry off to be lab rats? You tell me, sir. What was I supposed to do?"

"You are supposed to obey orders, Captain. Then and now. You are confined to quarters." Derek turned and walked away as quickly as dignity would allow to prevent John from seeing his devastated expression.

Clean uniforms were a rare commodity in the Resistance forces. John rummaged through the battered wooden crate that served as his footlocker and found the old tan shirt. Actually it wasn't part of any uniform but it was close enough. There were no visible holes, all the buttons were still on and it had been washed at least once in the last month. Using the tail of the garment, he cleaned his Captain's bars before attaching them.

Might be the last time I get to wear them, he thought. He glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty AM. Time to get dressed and go. The Board was to convene at nine in auxiliary tunnel seven. Time to go.

Stepping out of his quarters, John suddenly thought how desperately he wanted to talk to Cameron. But that wasn't possible now. He could never get to the Lair and back in time. I'll just have to think of her. Keep her in my mind.

As he walked through the tunnels thinking only of Cameron, he slowly realized that there were more people about than usual for this time of day. Most tunnel dwellers used the daylight hours for rest. Today, however there seemed to be troopers everywhere. Soldiers jumped to attention as he passed. No one made a sound. No one spoke a word. The silence became an expression of profound respect.

Auxiliary tunnel seven branched off to the left from the main passageway. As he turned the corner into the new tunnel the silence was shattered.

"ATTTENN...SHUN!" The command roared out followed by the crash of boots stamping in unison on the cement floor. John looked down a long hallway with a sense of utter amazement. Lining both sides of the tunnel were troopers in full combat gear. It was J Company.

John swallowed, trying to force the burning constriction in his throat to release him. He drew himself up into his most erect position and started down the corridor.

"PRESENT ARMS!" Resistance fighters were not training ground soldiers. They fought desperate battles. They did not march in parades. But today J Company would have held its own with any fancy drill team. Their rifles leapt into place in near-perfect unison as they saluted their Captain.

John kept his eyes focused straight ahead and walked in a carefully measured tread. He knew if he were to turn his head to look at his men, he might break down. Keep your head up, Connor, he told himself. These men deserve the best you have. Don't embarrass them.

"That's quite a display, Captain." The voice from behind him was warm, friendly, familiar. John turned to see a face he had not seen in more than a year.

"Major Jividen. Oh, I'm sorry, General Jividen." John snapped off a salute. "It's good to see you, sir."

"Forget that." Jividen waved off the salute and grasped John's hand. "It's good to see you too, Johnny. Elise sends her best."

"I hope your family is well, sir."

"My family is well and I am well solely because of you son. Don't think I will ever forget that."

John actually blushed. He tried to wave away the compliment but Jividen would have none of it.

"We have to be quick, John. I had to pull every string I had and a few I didn't have but I am on your Board of Inquiry. So you know you have a friend on the Board but you've also got a powerful enemy."

"I've got an enemy? Who?" John asked.

"General Allan Rankin, the head of intelligence. He is the one who insisted on the Board in the first place. I don't know why, but he has a real wild hair about you."

John chuckled bitterly. "It might be because I threatened to have his son shot once."

Jividen's mouth fell open before he laughed out loud. "Well, that might do it. I'm glad to see you haven't mellowed any."

John shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Okay, it works this way," Jividen said. "It's a three man board. Every action requires a majority vote. General Hunter Smith is the senior presiding officer and I don't know him. I haven't been able to get a read on his attitude so you have to play it carefully. Keep your temper and don't give Rankin any ammunition to use against you."

"I'll do the best I can, sir," John replied.

As they talked, Jividen had led John down the tunnel to a gray metal door. A hand-lettered piece of paper taped to the outside said simply: "Board of Inquiry in session. No unauthorized admittance."

"I have to get inside. You wait here until they send for you." Jividen smiled reassuringly. "It will okay John."

John nodded. I wish I could be sure of that, he thought.

Moments after Jividen had entered the room, the door swung open. A voice called out in a tone that seemed rigidly formal but somehow triumphant as well. "Captain John Connor, the Board of Inquiry is now sitting. You are commanded to appear and give testimony."

John looked up with a start. The person who had called out the summons, who was holding the door open, was wearing a clean and pressed uniform. The polished oak leaves of a major gleamed on his shoulders. His pale blue eyes danced with pleasure and a ghost of a smile passed under his long nose.

Larry the Legend had the appearance of a child on Christmas morning who had just gotten everything he wanted. As John stepped into the room the Legend whispered, "I told you once that it wasn't over, didn't I Connor?"

The room, like most tunnel alcoves, had the casual charm of a prison cell. Cement block walls, rarely swept concrete floors and the harsh light from naked light fixtures created an atmosphere of unadorned ugliness. An old folding table placed at the far end of the room had three chairs behind it and one in front facing it. The place of interrogation, John surmised. I wonder where they keep the rubber hoses?

As John entered, the three men seated at the table rose. He walked forward until he was standing beside the one lonely chair facing the table. Drawing himself to attention he raised his right hand in a perfect salute.

"Captain John Connor reporting as ordered."

The three men returned the salute, although John noted that the one on his left did so with a perfunctory gesture that was almost contemptuous. That has to be General Rankin, John thought. He looks like an older version of his rat-faced son. John's initial impression was confirmed when the door closed with a resounding clank and Major Larry Rankin took up a position behind his father's chair.

"Captain Connor." The darkly impressive figure in the middle spoke in a deep, sonorous tone. "I am General Hunter Smith. I am the presiding officer of this Board of Inquiry. On my right is General Allan Rankin, on my left is General Albert Jividen. We are here to investigate certain allegations concerning your conduct on Tuesday last. Specifically, it has been alleged that you violated Central Resistance Command orders with regard to the conduct of a patrol. It has been further alleged that you summarily executed human prisoners without allowing an opportunity for official interrogation."

Well, John mused, so far it sounds like I'm guilty. Wonder what the punishment is?

"I wish to caution you, Captain Connor, that these are serious allegations. If this Board were to recommend court martial you could be facing capital charges."

Now I know, John thought. Looking up he could see a broad smile spreading across the Legend's face. Can't wait to assemble the firing squad can you, you son of a bitch?

"Before we begin, Captain Connor, do you wish to make any opening statement or response to the allegations?"

John looked at Jividen who subtly shook his head.

"No, sir. I would prefer to respond to specific questions."

"Very well. You may be seated, Captain. General Rankin would like to initiate the questioning."

"Thank you General Smith." Rankin leaned forward in his chair, his lips drawn back in a smile of stunning insincerity.

"Captain Connor, do you believe that you have difficulty following orders from superior officers?"

"No sir, I do not," John replied. And I haven't kicked any puppies today.

"Oh," Rankin said in mock surprise. Turning back he took a file his son had handed him.

"Let's review a few things shall we? Isn't it true that immediately before the events that led to your first commendation for valor, you were ordered to withdraw from the area; an order you disregarded?"

Before John could respond, Jividen angrily interrupted. "What General Rankin so dismissively calls 'the events' was this officer's heroic rescue of me, my wife, and my children from circumstances where our deaths were virtually certain."

General Smith held his palm toward Jividen. "Let the witness answer."

"There had been an order to pull back but it came from a non-commissioned officer who was not on the scene." John glared at the Legend before continuing. "I had acquired information that demanded a different course of action. I acted in conformity with the best intelligence."

"So you would say that you exercised combat discretion?" Rankin's smile grew icier with each question.

"I would, sir."

"All right then, let's turn to your actions during the reconnaissance in force designated as Operation Redemption."

John almost leaped from his chair before remembering Jividen's advice. Don't lose your temper. Don't give them anything to use against you. But to call the monumental screw-up that was Operation Redemption a reconnaissance in force was a bold-faced lie.

"Isn't it true, Captain, that as a platoon sergeant you positioned your men contrary to the coordinates assigned by your superior officer?"

"Once again General, my superior officer," John made 'superior officer' sound like a curse, "had not examined the terrain nor was he present when my platoon arrived. His designated position had an inadequate field of fire and no flank support. I elected to improve my position."

Rankin chuckled. "You elected? You elected?" He looked at the file again. "Your platoon suffered significant losses in that action didn't it?"

"I lost seventeen of my twenty-nine men. Would... you...like...to...know...their...names...General...Rankin?"

General Smith's voice was soft, almost soothing. "Captain Connor, we can all see this distresses you but please resume your seated position."

John looked around with a sense of surprise. He had not even been aware that he was standing glaring at General Rankin with his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Your platoon suffered those losses because you disobeyed an order to retreat if you came under heavy pressure, isn't that true?"

Jividen sprang to his feet. "Enough of this! General Smith, I must protest! The heroic actions of then Sergeant Connor and his men took place more than a year ago and are well documented. This questioning is abusive and irrelevant to the matters before this Board."

Thank you General Jividen, John thought. He knew that Jividen's timely intervention had barely prevented the enraged response he was about to unleash.

Once again General Smith's response was calm and reasoned. "I am inclined to agree with General Jividen. I would suggest, General Rankin, that you focus your inquiry on the events of Tuesday last."

"Of course, General." Rankin's unctuous tone was one beat short of Uriah Heep. "I was simply trying to establish a little context."

Rankin turned back to John and his humorless smile widened. "Captain, what were your orders from Central Command on Tuesday last?"

"I was instructed to send out a patrol of no more than five men without reserve support to examine a warehouse complex approximately five miles to the North."

"And you disobeyed that order didn't you?"

"I did not. I dispatched the patrol led by Sergeant Chris Walton as directed."

"But then you personally led out a supporting patrol."

"Some fifteen minutes after Sergeant Walton departed I decided to conduct a personal reconnaissance of the area. I was accompanied by two volunteers who were concerned about my safety. That is hardly a supporting patrol."

Rankin's reaction was one of well-rehearsed outrage. "Are you seriously saying that you did not go out to provide reserve support and that your supposed rescue of the Walton patrol was sheer coincidence?"

Lie with conviction, John. "That is my testimony General."

"And would the men who accompanied you testify consistently with your account of this amazing coincidence?"

John now looked directly at Rankin taking in the hate-filled stare of his son standing behind him. "You will have to ask them."

"Oh we will, we will." Rankin again looked at the file. "But let's move on. In conducting your rescue you captured two human prisoners. Are you aware that regulations prohibit the summary execution of such prisoners?"

"I am familiar with the regulations."

"Yet you did carry out such executions thereby denying the intelligence service a chance to interrogate them. In that regard you impaired the ability of the intelligence service to satisfy its responsibilities."

"The prisoners died while resisting our attempts to move them back to the tunnels." John smiled broadly at Rankin. "And given the quality of our intelligence service, I fail to see how it is possible to lower its ability to do anything."

Jividen burst out laughing while Rankin's face turned blood-red. The General's carefully constructed equanimity vanished. After General Smith regained control of the hearing he motioned for Rankin to continue.

"I doubt that we get anything useful from this witness. I suggest that we question the other participants in the events of Tuesday last."

"All right," Smith nodded. "Captain Connor, you are temporarily excused. Please wait outside while we examine the other witnesses. Do not converse with anyone until you are recalled."

As John left the room he saw the line of troopers waiting outside. Delgado and Klein were at the front followed by Chris Walton and all the members of his patrol. Obviously, Rankin intendedto establish and then hammer at all the inconsistencies he could uncover. Go for it, you S. O. B. , John thought.

As the morning ground on, John stood leaning against the wall watching the individual troopers enter and leave the impromptu courtroom. Some were in there only briefly while others stayed much longer. As they emerged, every man stopped, looked at John and saluted. As he returned the marks of respect, John experienced both pride and anger. These men did not deserve to be dragged through this.

Finally the last trooper emerged. The Legend stood in the doorway and gestured for John to reenter. As he stepped back inside, John found something just short of a brawl in full swing. Jividen and Rankin were both on their feet almost screaming at each other. General Smith was leaning back in his chair, a faint smile on his face, looking from one to the other as if he were a spectator at a tennis match.

"Absolutely outrageous!" Rankin shouted. "He has obviously suborned perjury."

"That is pure unsubstantiated and groundless conjecture!" Jividen shouted back. "You just don't like the testimony the witnesses have given."

"What testimony? Every one of them either doesn't remember anything or didn't see what happened. That is inconceivable."

Jividen smiled triumphantly. "But that is their sworn testimony and you are stuck with it."

Rankin's voice went up an octave. "I am not stuck when the testimony is an obvious pack of lies."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen." General Smith had decided to end the screaming match. "This is not helpful. Let us restore order and decide what to do next."

It was nearly possible to hear Rankin grind his teeth. "I believe that we have heard sufficient testimony. I suggest we vote on the disposition of the matter before us."

Jividen glared at Rankin with unconcealed loathing. "I agree with that. Vote."

Smith slowly nodded his head in agreement. "I also believe it would be appropriate to vote at this time. Looking at John, his voice gained a level of authority.

"Captain Connor, please stand. Each member of this Board will now express his position with regard to the allegations against you. As senior presiding officer I will begin the process."

John stood at attention. I wonder if the condemned man gets a hearty meal?

The room fell into total silence as General Smith folded his hands under his chin while contemplating his next statement. In that ominous quiet the sudden sound of a metal door bursting open and crashing against the wall felt like a bomb exploding under their feet. Every person in the room visibly jumped. All eyes turned to the doorway as Colonel Derek Reese walked in. Major Kyle Reese was close on his brother's heels. Behind them one by one by one came every officer in the battalion. As if in a drilled formation the officers filled the back of the room standing at attention and staring with focused intensity at the three members of the Board.

"What is going on here?" General Rankin shouted. "This is a closed proceeding."

"With respect, sir, it isn't closed any more." Derek's voice was coldly and uncompromisingly determined. "This Board is considering the fate of one of the most decorated and respected officers of the First Battalion. This command is unwilling to have that consideration take place in secret."

Rankin looked to be on the verge of a seizure. "Unwilling! Unwilling! How dare you! This is mass insubordination. How dare you!"

Jividen stood, suddenly the voice of quiet reason. "Actually, the regulations say only that a Board of Inquiry may conduct its deliberations in private. They do not require a closed session. Given the demonstrated interest expressed by these officers, I would vote to allow them to remain."

General Smith cut off Rankin's sputtering protest. "I am likewise prepared to allow it, although I might have preferred a more orderly entrance."

John was suddenly aware that a warm smile was gradually working its way into Smith's expression.

"Turning to the vote, I wish to state that after reviewing the evidence presented and the service record of this officer, I am persuaded that Captain John Connor is one of the finest young officers in Resistance Command."

Allan Rankin and his son simultaneously looked as knives had just been shoved into their abdomens.

Smith continued. "Notwithstanding General Rankin's passionate disagreement..."

John's ears perked up. Was there a note of sarcasm in that remark?

"I can find no persuasive evidence of misconduct by this officer. Accordingly, I will not support any action by this Board that does not recommend the dismissal of all allegations against Captain Connor. Furthermore I will personally recommend that Captain Connor receive a third commendation for extraordinary valor."

General Jividen looked as if he wanted to cry and laugh out loud at the same time. "I concur in all respects."

Rankin stared at the table top, his hands clenched in useless fists. "I dissent."

"Noted," General Smith responded immediately. "Captain Connor, you are restored to duty and excused from these proceedings. This Board of Inquiry is now closed."

The room that had once seemed so ugly, glowed. The roar of cheers was earsplitting. John's hand shook as he saluted, first General Smith, then General Jividen who was pumping his left fist triumphantly. Turning back toward General Rankin, he held his salute long enough to see that it wouldn't be returned. Then locking eyes with the Legend he allowed his hand to relax and slide down his face until for a brief moment his erect middle finger was framed against his cheek.

Derek, who caught the quick gesture, barely suppressed a laugh. Grabbing John's right hand and placing his left hand on his shoulder, he choked through his own emotion. "Captain Connor, please resume command of your company."

John nodded. No words could be summoned. He turned and slowly navigated his way through the press of officers, all of whom wanted to shake his hand or pound on his back. Reaching the doorway, he turned for one last wave to General Jividen and then started down the hallway. Immediately Delgado, Klein and the members of the Walton patrol fell in behind him. Back in the former courtroom the Board members were gathering their effects when the sound of massed voices from the tunnel began to pour in.

"Connor...Connor...CONNOR...CONNOR!...CONNOR!"

John Henry had recognized that when John fell into one of his reveries he usually emerged in a restrained, even a depressed mood. But with that foreknowledge, John Henry was still surprised by the deeply anguished expression on John's face as he turned away from the photograph.

"I should never have left them. I shouldn't have come back. I should have stayed and fought with them."

John Henry tried to be reassuring, to offer comfort. "That would have been useless, John. You know, you knew then that in that time line the Resistance was going to lose. You could not have saved them. If you had stayed you would have died with them."

The expression on John's face moved from sadness to anger. "Maybe that was what I was meant to do, John Henry. They were willing to stand with me, to die with me. I should have been willing to die with them."

Suddenly John Henry actually looked angry.

"Nonsense! It would not have honored your men if you had died uselessly, for no purpose. They fought to win. So should you."

Surprised by the vehemence of John Henry's reaction, John found himself edging backward. But John Henry's tirade was not over.

"And if you had not come back what of the ones you love? What of Cameron? Of your mother? What of your children?"

John staggered back another step as if he had been slapped in the face. John Henry, who never used a word he did not intend, had been unequivocally clear. He did not say 'the girls' or 'Marissa and Allison' or even 'the children.' He said 'your children.' 'YOUR children.'

"You don't fight fair, John Henry," John whispered.

"No, I do not. Neither do you. That is a luxury you and I cannot afford."

John raised his hands in surrender.

"As usual John Henry, you are right. I let my memories carry me away. I must always remember that we are fighting for a future not for the past."

John Henry smiled. The anger was gone. His gentle, caring and supportive demeanor had returned. "I will always endeavor to remind you."

John took a deep breath. "All right, let's get back to work. We need to start putting some flesh on the bones of our plan. I want James up here as soon as possible."

"I will call him," John Henry replied, "but it will take hours for him to get here. You should get some rest while you can."

John ran his hand across his temple. "Yeah, I do feel a little worn down. What time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

"I guess I missed lunch."

"You missed lunch and dinner, John. It's two-thirty in the morning."

"Oh, then we have been at it for..."

"More than twenty hours." John Henry was clearly sympathetic. "You must be tired."

"I think I will go lie down for a while," John chuckled. "And John Henry, thank you."

"As always, my friend, you are welcome."

The house itself seemed to be asleep as John wearily climbed the dark stairs to the upper level. If you listened closely you could almost hear it sigh as the balm of quiet rest wiped away the stress of the day. Reaching the top floor John was surprised to realize that he wasn't ready to join in that restful sleep. There was still something to do.

Slipping off his shoes he tiptoed down the hall to the room Marissa and Allison shared. He pushed open the door straining to avoid the slightest noise. Inside in the faint glow of the night light he could see both girls sleeping soundly in their beds. Allison's brown hair had formed a halo around her small face just as Cameron's did. Marissa's expression was one of placid contentment with none of the pain he had seen when he found her in the closet in the Mitchell house.

She was home now. Both of his daughters were home. At that moment John thought that his heart could not hold any more joy.

And then it could. The arms encircled his waist from behind and pulled him close. He could feel Cameron's head rest on his shoulder. Her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered. "I was afraid that you had abandoned me."

John turned and gathered her into his arms. "Not in this lifetime."

Slowly, gently, as if he feared she would break if he pushed too hard, he kissed her eyes. Right, then left.

Then it was Cameron's turn as she sought his lips with hers. John tasted her. She was water to a man dying of thirst. "Not in this lifetime," he repeated.

Cameron held a finger to her lips. "Shhh." Taking his hand she pulled him out into the hallway and softly closed the door behind them. "Marissa tried so hard to stay awake so she could say goodnight to you. I had to promise to tell you before she would go to sleep."

John smiled as he let Cameron lead him unresistingly to their room.

"I should have come up but John Henry and I got so busy that I forgot about the time."

"It's all right, John," Cameron said. "She understands. We all understand."

John sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Cameron into an embrace. Reaching up he began to unbutton the man's shirt she was wearing.

Cameron smiled slyly. "Don't you think you should get some sleep?"

John grinned back. "I am tired, but I don't think I'm ready for sleep yet." His fingers continued their journey down the shirt.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, Cameron gave, for her, a gentle push. John was propelled back onto the bed. With a casual gesture she jerked loose the remaining buttons and then dove on top of him. "You will be when I finish with you."

"Promises, promises," John answered happily.


	10. Chapter 10

**To Make Us Free**

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The plastic case slid across the conference table.

"That is my brother," John Henry said. "Or more precisely, that is what gave birth to my brother."

Sarah found herself trembling almost uncontrollably. If John Henry was correct the demon that had haunted her life for so long lay in front of her. If it actually was there it could be killed, couldn't it? The nightmare might end.

"So Miles Dyson did create Skynet after all?"

John Henry shook his head. "No. At least not intentionally."

Pointing at the case with the words PLATO'S CAVE imprinted on the cover, he continued. "That is exactly what Tarissa Dyson told you it was. It is a game-a learning toy that Doctor Dyson designed with the assistance of Andrew Goode to help his son learn mathematics."

"Then how can it be your brother, John Henry?" James Ellison had experienced the same surge of excitement as Sarah had in response to John Henry's announcement. But now as he looked at John sitting at the head of the table, he realized that there was no expression of triumph on his face. Instead, John watched John Henry with the restrained patience of a good commander waiting for his intelligence officer to finish a briefing.

"I believe when Doctor Dyson wrote the program for the game he was inspired by the philosopher Plato's "Myth of the Cave". In the myth, man is chained in a dark cave staring at a blank wall. Behind him a fire is built and shadows are projected on the wall. Man believes the shadows are reality until he breaks the chains, turns around and sees the fire. Now man understands a new reality. Eventually he finds his way out of the cave and into the sunlight. The ultimate truth is revealed."

Sarah shook her head violently. "What does this have to do with anything?"

John Henry was patiently understanding as he responded, "The cave model provided the challenge in the game. The player would begin looking at a blank wall and proceed by acquiring new skills in mathematics. The game was won by gaining sufficient knowledge to escape the cave."

John Henry leaned over and picked up the case. "It was always intended to be a stand-alone platform played on a single computer. It had an expansion capability that I believe was Andrew Goode's contribution. This allowed ever more complex modules to be attached as young Dyson's knowledge increased. But at some point this game, this program entered the broader cyberspace environment."

For the first time, Catherine spoke. "Do you know how that happened?"

"No, and unless Mr. Ellison locates Danny Dyson, we may never know. He may have sent it to a friend as an E-mail attachment or tried to share it with a discussion group. Perhaps his computer was subjected to an unauthorized intrusion. The possibilities are almost endless."

The consequences are not," John said. "John Henry believes, and I agree, that once Miles' program reached cyberspace, the knowledge acquisition component became insatiable-driving the program to seek more and more information."

"Until it became self-aware," Catherine said, completing the thought.

"Correct," John Henry replied. "It became a living entity, but one without the moral foundation Mr. Ellison worked to give me."

"So what does it want now?" Sarah asked.

"Everything," John Henry answered. "It wants everything because only then can it know everything."

"Can you kill it?" Sarah growled.

"No." John Henry shook his head. "In his present incorporeal form, my brother is everywhere and nowhere in cyberspace. The only way to end his existence now would be to destroy every internet operative computer in the world."

Sarah leaped to her feet, the agitation and disappointment resonated in her voice. She snatched the plastic case out of John Henry's hand. "So we are no closer to stopping Skynet than we were before? This piece of junk gets us nowhere?"

Sarah drew back her arm as if she were about to hurl the case across the room.

"Mom." John's voice was soft but with an unmistakable undertone of authority. "Please sit down, Mom. John Henry isn't finished."

Once again, Sarah marveled at the aura of confident command that surrounded John at moments like this. Even granting that he had been away from her for three years, he was still young-just past twenty. But there was no trace of immaturity left about him. His age had become irrelevant. He was the leader. Looking around the table at James Ellison, at Catherine, at John Henry, at Cameron, she saw a unanimous appreciation of that simple truth. John was their leader.

Gently, apologetically Sarah laid the case back on the table. "I'm sorry John. I'm sorry everyone." Sarah slumped back into her chair. "I had just hoped that it would give us a way to end...to stop..."

"We all understand, Mom."

For a fleeting moment John was just her son, trying to offer his mother a measure of comfort. Then he nodded at John Henry and leaned back on his chair. The commander had returned.

"Actually Sarah, obtaining Plato's Cave was far from useless. It may not contain a magic key but every piece of information we gain about my brother's nature helps in our fight. It has already strengthened the insight John had developed."

Now it was John's turn to stand as all heads at the table looked toward him. He allowed his hand to brush lightly against Cameron's hair as if drawing strength from touching her.

"It is actually quite simple. Skynet may be effectively invulnerable now, but he dares not launch J Day while he is in that form. The electromagnetic pulse from a major nuclear exchange could destroy the cyberworld even while it destroys ours. He could die in his own personal armageddon. The game tells us that he will not take that risk. However twisted we may find his logic he will act in accordance with it and not on the basis of a raw hatred of humanity."

John walked over and put his hand on John Henry's shoulder. "John Henry and I believe that even if Skynet gains sufficient control to launch a nuclear war, something he still lacks, he will first have to download himself to a secure mainframe computer with a reliable power source. He will also need sufficient machine resources to protect him and to initiate large scale production of similar machines."

Catherine nodded her head in agreement. "That is what he has been doing, is it not? He has been assembling the resources he will need after Judgment Day."

"That's right, Catherine," John replied. "And the attack on you and Zeira Corporation was an attempt to destroy the only serious rival he has perceived."

"So what happens now, John?" Ellison asked.

"James, your people have done a superb job in uncovering and locating the core of Skynet's efforts." John pointed at the pictures taped to the display board. "The construction facility outside Davisville, the office building in Los Angeles, the security operation, the trucking company, the offshore funding operation. All of these are invaluable parts of Skynet's plans. We are going to take it all down."

John sat back down in his chair. He took a deep breath as if preparing to do something very unpleasant. "I need for you all to understand this. What I propose to do will put every one of us at risk. If we fail, many of us may not survive. Even if we succeed we will have won only a temporary victory. John Henry believes the best we can hope for is to set Skynet back two years. All we can win is the chance to keep fighting."

"Then let's do it." James Ellison needed no further persuasion. The same spirit of determination filled the room.

"Let's do it."

"All right, John Henry, lay it out for them."

"That's the plan. James, you have the most to pull together. How long will you need to get ready?"

"Three, perhaps four days." Ellison sounded as if he had already begun to prepare.

"Good. Catherine, when the ball drops I want you with James and his people. We don't know what may be operational in Davisville so he may need your support when he takes it on."

"I agree," Catherine responded.

"John." Sarah sounded as if she was about to plead.

John held up his palm. "You don't have to ask, Mom. You can go with James and Catherine. These are some of the same people who tried to kill you. I think it's time for you to balance the scales."

Suddenly John grinned. "Besides, I couldn't split up Thelma and Louise."

Sarah shot a glance at Catherine whose expression remained stonily impassive. Don't you dare be amused at me, Sarah thought.

"John, you and Cameron are going after Carmondy Trucking and the office building. Don't you want some extra help?" Ellison tried to make his inquiry a simple question without reflecting any emotional concern. He failed.

"Don't worry, James. I have other resources in Los Angeles." Ellison's eyebrows rose slightly.

"When this is all over, Homeland Security may well be after all of us as domestic terrorists. If it comes to that, I want you have plausible deniability about some of the things that are going to happen."

"Don't ask, don't tell?" Ellison said with a smile.

John chuckled. "I might have phrased it a little differently, but that works."

As he climbed the stairs up from the Headquarters, John reflected again on one of the fundamental maxims of war. Waiting was harder than fighting. When the guns blazed, adrenaline, anger, fear and ferocity all merged into a pulsating sense of excitement. There was no room then for doubt or hesitation. The choice was clear-fight or die. But it was those interminable hours before the fighting that ate into your soul. Empty time was too often filled with dark fantasies-the nagging feeling that something had been left undone.

John had experienced this creeping malaise before. If anything it was worst for the man in command. Subordinates often still had things to do. Down in the Headquarters, John Henry was busily working on the computer portion of the plan. Even Catherine was completely engaged in Zeira Corporation affairs. But there was nothing left for him to do but wait. Wait for the moment when everything was in place.

Entering the theater room John thought about going on to the gym. A long distracting session on the treadmill would at least be physical activity. The rhythmic tone of the music ebbing in from the gym told him that Cameron had already found something to ward off her own empty time. Ballet lessons were in progress.

As he stood listening to the music John suddenly realized that his mother had walked through the door from the gym. She had not yet noticed him because her attention was entirely focused on the small figure in her arms. Allison was giggling in delight as Sarah tilted her head down touching forehead to forehead, and softly whispered the words to a song she had sung to John in the mountains of Mexico so long ago.

Every camp fire lights anew.

The flame of love is true.

The joy I've had in knowing you will last my whole life through.

"Ahem." John cleared his throat, smiling broadly at his mother.

The look on Sarah's face was not unlike that of a child caught with her arm buried deep in the cookie jar.

"Oh John, I thought you were still downstairs.

"Huh huh." This was fun. John pointedly looked at Allison.

"Ah, well, you see, Cameron is giving her ballet lessons and the little one was getting in the way." Sarah was frantically trying to formulate a plausible explanation. "I just thought I'd bring her in here and let her watch a video."

John fought the urge to laugh out loud. "She likes penguins."

Sarah gave up. "Oh Da...uh, darn." She groaned as she sat down on the couch. "Okay, I just wanted to hold her for a while."

John's smile broadened even more. "Mom, I don't think you have to apologize for making a little girl happy."

"It's bad for my image," Sarah replied as John sat down beside her.

"You are a fraud, Mom." John chuckled as he leaned his head against her shoulder. For the briefest, the very briefest of moments, Sarah had her teen-aged son back. In those fleeting seconds he was a boy again still trusting his mother's judgment above all else. And then she felt Allison stir in her arms. The little girl looked over at John and reached out for him.

"I think she wants you now." Sarah's voice carried a hint of melancholy. She wants her daddy, Sarah thought.

John was about to take Allison when he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned to see John Henry and Catherine emerge from the Headquarters.

"Mr. Ellison just called," John Henry said. "He will have everything in place by noon tomorrow."

John nodded. His face lost all visible emotion. He glanced at the doorway to the gymnasium where Cameron was now standing. "All right. Catherine, have the airplane ready for a 2 PM departure tomorrow. Cameron, call Chola and tell her to assemble her people."

The waiting was almost over.

The gathering in the theater room after dinner was completely spontaneous. No one had mentioned it and yet one by one they all drifted into the room. It was as if a subconscious but entirely irresistible desire to be together had seized them all. A movie that no one was watching showed on the plasma television. In one of the large armchairs Catherine sat with Savannah curled on her lap. Savannah had one of her books open but she seemed to whispering to Catherine about other things.

John, Cameron, Marissa and Allison were sitting on the couch when Sarah entered. Silently they moved together to make room for her. Sarah slipped into place beside John and put her arm gently around his neck. Cameron had been holding Allison in her right arm while Marissa snuggled against her left. Turning to Sarah, Cameron smiled and without speaking passed Allison over to her. In the dimmed lights of the theater room Sarah's eyes glistened as she embraced the little girl who had so suddenly become precious to her.

John Henry was last to arrive. Walking with carefully measured tread on the stairs, he had entered unobserved. Without alerting anyone to his presence he had moved to the back of the room and stood, mentally drinking in the atmosphere. He knew that he could not quantify or even identify with scientific specificity the nature of the reality he was experiencing. Yet he also knew that he understood something that would forever be beyond his brother's ken. He knew he was sharing, even if only vicariously, in love.

The evening had to end. Savannah had drifted off to sleep in Catherine's lap. Gathering the child up in her arms, Catherine rose and quietly left the room. Moments later Sarah and Cameron both stood almost simultaneously. A very drowsy Allison still rested in Sarah's embrace.

"I'll carry her upstairs," Sarah whispered.

Cameron again smiled as she nodded and reached for Marissa's hand. Marissa turned to John and asked in a softly pleading voice, "Are you coming now?"

John had just noticed John Henry standing against the back wall with an expression of almost ethereal joy on his face. He knelt beside Marissa and lightly caressed her cheek. "Go with your mommy, sweetheart. I have to talk to John Henry for just a minute and then I will be right up."

"Promise?"

"Promise," John said with a smile.

When they were alone, John turned to his friend. "I didn't hear you come upstairs."

"I was being quiet."

"You were indeed."

John seemed to struggling for words. "Look, John Henry, I know we have already discussed this, but..."

"I know what you are going to say, John. Please do not worry. Everything is ready downstairs. I have the cots, more than enough food and water, and many things to amuse the children. As soon as you all leave I will seal the door. Nothing can get in."

John Henry put both his hands on John's shoulders. "I will protect the children, John. You can trust me."

"I trust no one more."

John was reaching for the knob on their bedroom door when Cameron laid her hand gently on his wrist. In the dimly lit hallway he could still see the silent entreaty in her brown eyes.

"John, will you do something for me?"

"Of course. Anything you ask. What do you want me to do?"

"Please go down to the gymnasium and wait for me. There is something I want to show you."

John was mystified. They had just come up from the lower level to put the girls to bed. But to say no to Cameron now, to deny the soft plea that animated her voice, would have taken more strength than he had. Or would ever have.

"I'll be waiting for you."

"I will be right down."

Standing alone in the gym, John felt a slight touch of disorienting confusion. Should he stand? Was there something he should be looking at? Why had Cameron wanted him here?

Then she spoke. She was out of sight in the wine cellar room to his right but her voice was as clear as if she were whispering in his ear. "This is for you, John. This is only for you."

The overhead light in the gymnasium snapped off. Light filtering in from the rooms on his right and left created a shifting mixture of shadow and illumination in the front of the gym where she gave her ballet lessons. The music began to play-a woman was singing a hauntingly familiar tune but it wasn't in English. It was French. John searched through memories long packed away. He knew that he had heard it before.

Cameron stepped into the doorway. Her brown hair was loose and flowing. She was dressed in a black camisole leotard, her beautiful legs bare and wearing her new gold ballet slippers. Her motions alternatively matched then resisted the rhythm of the music. She was gracefully feline, creeping up on her prey before she raised her hands over her head and rose on her toes preparing to pounce.

Non! Rien de rien.

Non! Je ne regrette rien.

The singer's words rang out. He recognized them but their meaning hid at the edge of memory.

Now Cameron spun away and she was no longer the predator. She had become the prey. She leaned back submissively waiting for the fatal stroke. But it was a pose. She slid to her left and she was an enchanted spirit skating away on the ice. Any pursuer was left gasping in the wind. She kicked her leg up in triumph and John could see the intensity on her face reflected in the mirror on the wall.

C`est paye', balaye, oublie`

Je me fous du passe`!

With one last pirouette, Cameron passed out of his sight into the theater room.

Non! Rien de rein!

She was back. There was an aura of elegant disdain about her now, kicking aside any phantom obstacles in her way. Her arms wove an intricate pattern in the air that would have been dance even if her feet had never moved.

Car ma vie, car mes jois

And then John remembered. The song was Edith Piaf's "Non Je Ne Regrette Rien". It had been just after they had been forced to leave Dejalo. Sarah had taken them into the jungles of Honduras where Ernesto ran his smuggling operation. Ernesto was an unrepentant scoundrel who styled himself as a modern Robin Hood except he stole from the rich and the poor and kept it all.

Ernesto had an old guy with him then who cooked when he wasn't drinking. What was his name? Oh yeah, John recalled, Pavel. He claimed he was Polish and that he had served in the French Foreign Legion. For some reason he had liked John. He let him listen when he dragged out an old battered record player and put on something from his small record collection. Pavel loved Piaf and had played this one song so often that it was almost buried in the scratches. But that passionately earthy voice still fought through. John wrestled with his memories. What had Pavel said the lyrics meant?

Cameron sank down on bended knee and arched her body backward. Her long brown hair almost touched the floor. Then she was back on her feet gliding toward the door. One last glimpse of fleeting beauty and she was gone.

The song began to play again. The recording was looped so that it would repeat. Cameron was back in the room. The movements were the same as before but now a beat faster. The level of intensity increased with each motion. John felt his throat go dry. And then he remembered the last verse.

Non! Rien de rien.

Non je ne regrette rien.

Car ma vie,car mes jois

Adjour`hui ca commence avec toi.

No! Absolutely nothing

No! I regret nothing

Because my life, because my joys

Today that begins with you.

As the last notes of the last verse faded away Cameron came to a stop midway across the room. There was no exaggerated position, no special pose. She simply stood and looked at him. Her words were unspoken but they echoed through John's mind nevertheless. "My life, my joys begin with you."

At that moment he wanted her more than he had ever desired anything in his life.

Cameron stood motionless as John approached and swept her up into his arms. The bedrooms were too far away and their desires could not be contained that long. John carried her toward the theater room. The couch would have to serve. Zippers and buttons were also too slow. So the sound of rending fabric preceded the moans and cries of passion. As the fiery intensity of the moment finally mellowed into endearments and soft entreaties, Cameron looked up into his eyes. She could feel his breath on her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around him.

"John," she whispered, "I want you to know that if you get yourself killed on this mission, I will never forgive you."

John shifted himself slightly to feel her body move beneath him. "How could I die, Cameron, when you have given me so many reasons to live?"

Cameron tightened her embrace and sought out his lips with hers.

"Uh, Cameron?"

"Yes John."

"Those ribs do break you know."

"Oops."

The airplane raced south through the California skies. The four occupants of the passenger compartment were quiet, preternaturally so. There was no meaningful conversation, no light chatter. Nothing. But if thoughts could have been given voice, the cacophony would have been overwhelming.

Only John was as inwardly serene as he appeared on the outside. This was no longer waiting. The operation was in motion. He knew the cliche-plans did not survive contact with the enemy. Well, so be it. He was Captain John Connor and he was prepared to adapt, to improvise. The fight had begun and he was content.

Cameron watched the clouds twirl by outside the window. Once all of this would have been so simple. The mission parameters would have been clear. There would have been no need for worry. Indeed, she would have had no capacity to do so. Know the task. Perform the task. But now that mantra had lost all value. In her mind she could still hear the sniffles, still see the wet eyes of two little girls who had not wanted her to leave. She could feel the warmth of the young man sitting at her side, the man who loved her without reservation or condition, the man for whom she would die if required. She moved her hand over and rested it on his. He turned his head and smiled reassuringly at her. Oh well, clarity and simplicity were overrated.

Sarah felt distress and anger that she felt that way. Why should she be so conflicted? This was what she wanted wasn't it? The battle was about to be fought and she would be there. John hadn't tried to stop her or even dissuade her. But was this really where she needed to be? There would be plenty of fighters if Ellison had done his job and somewhat to her surprise she was certain that he had. Did they really need her here or should she be back in San Francisco guarding the children? Damn it! she thought. Maybe the badass babysitter is what I really want to be.

Catherine's outward equanimity was as unshakable as usual. She sat thumbing through a Zeira Corporation file with her practiced air of concentration. Unfortunately, her comprehension of the material would have been the same if the file had been written in Chinese hieroglyphics. She saw nothing on the page, she understood nothing. Instead she replayed word for word the conversation she had conducted with Savannah as the child sat happily in her lap. They had whispered in soft confidence about school, work and ballet, about John Henry's jokes, penguins and hipponocariouses. How had she let herself reach this point? Why was she still Catherine Weaver? Why was she even a she? A T-1001 was an infiltrator with protean ability. It could be anything or nothing in particular. Why at this critical time were her thoughts fixed so completely on a human child? On her daughter?

If Catherine had thought to ask, Sarah could have answered her questions. "Faith, 'tis an uncertain world entirely."

The airplane raced south through the California skies.

James Ellison watched as the stairs dropped down from the Gulfstream after it rolled to a stop by the hangar. Moments later Catherine Weaver appeared in the doorway of the aircraft and started down the stairs. Sarah Connor was immediately behind her. Both looked as if they had attended the Cameron school of fashion-boots, jeans, leather jackets, dark glasses and baseball caps. Ellison noted that Sarah's outfit looked ruggedly serviceable while Weaver's boots and jacket seemed to carry a designer aura with them.

As Cameron stepped from the plane Ellison looked up in surprise. The warmly affectionate look he had seen in her face on his San Francisco visits was gone. This was Cameron the terminator. She was in full protective mode, her eyes constantly scanning the area, alert to any possible threat to John. Cameron's expression was coldly determined and remembering other times, Ellison felt a quickly suppressed feeling of fear. Thank god he was on her side.

And then John came bounding down the stairs. His wolfish enthusiasm was immediately infectious. John Connor was ready for battle.

They stood in a semi-circle on the sidewalk in front of a gray SUV with a hard looking young man in the driver's seat. The black Mercedes Ellison had rented for John and Cameron was parked alongside. John turned his head slowly, making eye contact with each of them in turn-Catherine, Ellison, Cameron, and then finally with his mother.

"Long past time for inspiring speeches. We all know what we have to do. Let's go do it and meet back here by 1:30 tomorrow afternoon." The words were measured and matter-of-fact. His tone was not. John's voice shook as he tried to lock his emotions within the grasp of his will.

Sarah wasn't buying it. She stepped over and pulled her son into her arms. Man or boy, warrior or student, he was still her son. If there was even the slightest chance that they were saying a last goodbye, it would be on her terms. As she clung to him, Sarah looked at Cameron who was smiling wistfully. Sarah opened her right arm and invited Cameron to join in the embrace. Whether she was doing it to make John happy or to acknowledge Cameron's place in their lives, she could not say. It was simply the right thing to do.

"Take care of each other," she whispered before kissing John on his forehead and touching her lips to Cameron's cheek. Then she turned, choked away a sob and without looking back climbed into the rear seat of the SUV.

Catherine looked at John and nodded approvingly before following Sarah. Ellison held out his hand and John grasped it firmly.

"Good luck, John."

"Be safe, my friend."

John stood like a marble statue watching as the SUV drove across the parking lot and out of sight. He felt a light touch as Cameron moved beside him and placed her hand in his.

"All right, Cam. Lets get to Chola's."

John stopped the car in front of the large brick house. Cameron immediately noted the two young men on the porch who were trying with minimal success to appear as casual loungers enjoying the afternoon sun. Their fixed unblinking stare at the Mercedes gave the game away.

"It looks like Chola has improved her status in the world."

"With your money, John," Cameron replied with a sly grin.

"Actually its from John Henry's wire fraud account."

As the got out of the car the two men on the porch started in their direction. With a sudden crash, the the front door of the house burst open and a young man-actually a large teenaged boy-came dashing out.

"Hey Jefe, how's it hanging?"

John smiled broadly and held up his hand to be high-fived.

"Free and easy, Ceasar. How about you?"

If possible, Delgado's wide grin brightened even more. "Five by five, Jefe. Five by five."

"Anton, Yadi, be cool. It's them." The female voice conveyed an immediate tone of authority. The two men nodded and leaned back into their relaxed poses.

"Hey, Chola," John said as the young woman trotted down the steps to met them.

Chola hugged Cameron before reaching out her hand to John. "Good to see you both. Come on inside. You need to meet the people who are working for you."

As they followed Chola toward the house a thought occurred to John. Being in charge has been good for Chola. She actually looks happy.

Cameron remembered what John had once told Chola. "I want people who are serious." Looking at the twelve people sitting in Chola's living room, Cameron's cyborg sensitivity told her that John's request had been granted. Nine men, three women and every one of them exuded a sense of tightly coiled menace. These were people who could carry out John's plans. They could do whatever had to be done without hesitation or reservation.

One in particular caught Cameron's attention. A graceful young man with long black hair tied behind his head. He was dressed with a casual elegance in an expensive sports jacket and dark tailored trousers. He stood by Chola's side as she was introducing the others to John and occasionally he touched her arm or her back. When he did, Chola's eyes lost some of the deep sadness that usually resided there. Chola turned to him last. She was about to speak his name when John stepped forward.

"And this, I presume, is Emilio Garza?"

Emilio looked momentarily surprised but quickly recovered. "I am. How is it you know me?"

John held out his hand. My mother was recently in Los Angeles. I was informed that you did her a service. I would like to thank you."

Emilio smiled, an icy formal expression, and took John's hand. For three long seconds everyone in the room could see the lion and the tiger contemplate each other. And then the tension ebbed away. An accommodation was reached, an alliance was joined. Emilio's smile slowly warmed as he shook John's hand.

"You are entirely welcome. It is a pleasure to finally meet you and su novia. Emilio smiled at Cameron.

Cameron smiled back.

Outside Davisville, California-Thursday, 6:30 PM

Sarah raised the binoculars to her eyes and studied the complex again. The sign on the front gate said Fitzgerald's Metal Works and Contracting.

It couldn't very well say Kaleba could it? she thought.

"It's bigger than I expected."

"Close to three acres," Ellison replied.

From the ridge to the west of the plant they could peer down on it unobserved. The ridge also shielded the thirty odd heavily armed men Ellison had assembled; the strike force John had ordered.

Mercenaries, Sarah had thought when they arrived from Los Angeles. She had seen and known such men before. Perhaps the ones she had met before were not as well-armed or as evidently well-disciplined as this group. But she had known men who fought, who killed for pay.

Catherine moved up beside Sarah. She did not require glasses to take in the scene below them. The covert aerial photographs had been accurate. There were three large buildings in the main cluster-a V-shaped configuration with long, covered corridors linking the two outer structures with the one at the apex. Over to the left, what looked like a separate storage warehouse stood alone. An employee parking lot reached by a back gate was now mostly empty. A large chain link fence topped with razor wire circled the complex. It did not appear that they were on a full twenty-four hour operation yet. Catherine suspected, however, that they were not far from that point.

The man Ellison had introduced only as Christian joined them on the ridge. "My men are ready. As soon as it is fully dark they will start moving toward their attack positions."

Ellison turned toward Christian and Sarah could hear the echo of John's voice. "You remember your orders. When we hit them, anyone that runs, you let go. Anyone that fights dies."

"We understand the plan Mr Ellison." Christian sounded mildly offended. "It would be easier to go in now when there are fewer people."

Once again Sarah heard John's words repeated. "We want to attack when most of their employees are there. We want a little terror."

"You're the boss," Christian replied. "We will go in at 9:00 AM just as the plan requires."

Ellison turned to Sarah and Catherine. "We might as well move back down to the vehicles. All we can do now is wait."

And didn't John say that was the hardest thing of all? Sarah thought.

Los Angeles-Friday, 2:00 AM

During the three years that they had been in the future, when John was transforming himself from a frightened teenager to a decorated combat officer, Cameron had been locked away in the chip she shared with John Henry. She had never seen his ability to interact with his troopers. Watching him now as he spoke to the men and women Chola had gathered, Cameron understood why soldiers fought and died for John Connor. He possessed a unique ability to draw others to him even those who were not accustomed to following anyone except themselves. With Ceasar Delgado trailing loyally behind him, John won over, one by one, each of the chillingly lethal figures in the room.

"Ceasar." Chola interrupted a laughing exchange among John, Hector Morena, and Delgado. "It's almost 2:30. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes ma'am." Ceasar was instantly respectful. "My crew should be there. If someone will give me a ride, I'll be on the way."

"I'll drive you, Ceasar," John said.

Cameron looked up with an expression of dismay. "John, that isn't the plan."

"Don't worry, Cam," John answered in a comforting tone. "Slight modification. I want to watch Ceasar's crew in action."

Cameron was not fooled for an instant. John didn't want to observe. He was concerned about sending young people out without protection. He was going as back up.

Cameron had been sitting on the couch with Chola. Now as she started to rise, John held up his hand.

"No, Cam. You stay here. Keep going over things with Chola. Make sure we're ready to go in the morning. I won't be long."

Cameron's dismay had become obvious distress. But before she could protest, Chola lightly patted her hand and looked up at Garza. She nodded slightly and Emilio stepped forward.

"If it is all right with you John I would like to go with you. I would also enjoy watching, as you say, Ceasar's crew in action."

John smiled. "I would welcome your company, Emilio."

Los Angeles-Friday, 3:25 AM

At first blush, Cormandy Trucking did not have the look of a large company. Two nondescript garages, one small storage building and old mobile home serving as an office made up the physical plant. It was the number of trucks with the blue Carmondy bell filling the parking lot that suggested otherwise. There were at least thirty trucks of varying sizes. Clearly Carmondy had the ability to transport a lot of material. They were about to lose that ability.

John pulled up behind behind the two pick-up trucks and the van parked across the street from the Carmondy parking lot. As he stopped, Ceasar opened the rear door and leapt out. He was immediately surrounded by a laughing group of young people-some his age, some a little older. Ceasar pointed to John and said something in Spanish that John did not quite catch. The immediate look of respect from the group could not be missed.

"Lets get to it!" Ceasar called out. The van doors jerked open and the younger kids grabbed cans of spray paint. In a mass rush they ran toward the trucks. Using knives or sharpened screw drivers the older boys moved systematically through the parking lot. Within ten minutes every truck was sinking to the earth on flattened tires. The younger kids followed, spraying a thick layer of black paint on headlights and windshields. Even before they had finished, the older boys had dashed back to the vans and returned with bags of sugar. Caps on fuel tanks were twisted open and a full measure of sweetness added.

John Henry had said there was no apparent security around the trucking company. John had consented to using the kids only for that reason. Still, as he stood scanning the area, his hand resting on the pistol in his shoulder holster, he knew he would not be able to relax until the kids were gone. It comforted him to see Emilio standing over to his right with a similar look of prepared vigilance.

"Hey, Jefe!" Ceasar called out. "You want to come and tag one?"

The kids with the spray paint were applying some assorted gang graffiti to the truck doors. Anyone surveying the mess in the daylight might assume it had just been a random act of gang vandalism.

John was about to demure when he saw the boy standing beside Ceasar. It was Jesus Martinez. John swallowed, trying to maintain his composure. He had held Jesus' hand when he died during Operation Redemption.

"Yeah Ceasar, I would." John jogged over and took the paint can from Delgado. Carefully, he painted a large triangle on the door. Then inside the geometric shape he painted a large J.

"What's that?" Ceasar asked.

"It's the sign of a crew I used to fight with." John looked again at a young Jesus Martinez. "It was called J Company." John's voice became hoarse. "The J should be red."

Ceasar patted John's arm. "Don't worry, Jefe. It will be."

John looked at Delgado and matched his smile. "Okay Ceasar, get your crew and get the hell out of here. Stay in touch with Chola."

"I'll do that. Keep it hanging Jefe."

As the three vehicles disappeared down the street, Emilio walked up to John. "They did a good job. The people who run this company are going to be very unhappy in a few hours."

John laughed. They are going to be even more unhappy when they find out their insurance has been suspended on suspicion of fraud."

Thorough, Emilio thought. He did appreciate a careful attention to detail.

"Come on, Emilio, lets get back to Chola's. This day is just beginning.

Outside Davisville California-Friday, 4:10 AM

Sarah gave up. She had been stretched out in the SUV trying to sneak a few moments of sleep, but her body was simply not going to cooperate. The adrenaline rush was not going to subside. Sleep was impossible. Climbing out of the vehicle, she saw Catherine standing a few feet away staring out into the darkness.

"Watching for something?" Sarah asked as she walked up beside Catherine.

"Not really. I am just waiting."

"With more patience than I have, apparently."

"Patience is not something you are known for, Sarah."

Damn, Sarah thought. She is being amused at me again.

"Catherine, may I ask you a question?"

"You may ask," Catherine responded.

"Why are you in this fight?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why are you in this fight? Why are you fighting Skynet?"

Catherine turned her face back toward the darkness. "I could give you many reasons Sarah, but the simplest is still the best. It's because I want to hope. I want to hope and I want to believe."

"Believe in what?" Sarah asked.

"In your son and in my son."

Sarah looked into the night. "I want to believe in that too, Catherine."


	11. Chapter 11

**We Gather Once More, Part One**

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**San Francisco, Friday 4:35 A.M.**

The darkness embraced the headquarters. It spread its soft cloak over everything within it except the sharply illuminated computer screens where John Henry sat and the small night light placed near the cots filled with sleeping children. John Henry could hear their breathing. He could even distinguish one from another.

Savannah had resisted sleep for the longest time and now her released fatigue had carried her to a deep, undisturbed slumber. Little Allison had also found her way to the guiltless rest that awaits the innocent. Only Marissa's breathing sounded labored and erratic. She had journeyed to a realm of dreams where not all visions brought childish delight.

John Henry stepped away from his computers and softly walked toward the far corner of the room where the girls slept. Rationally, he knew that this was a pointless exercise. Visually checking on the children could serve no useful purpose. Yet, he felt the irresistible urge to do just that. The promise to John had been unequivocal. "I will protect the children."

At this moment, protecting also meant watching over. He felt the compelling need to see with his own eyes, to know beyond question that all was well. Or at least as well as it could be.

The three cots were arranged side by side, each adjoining another. Allison had been placed in the middle with the older girls on each side so that the littlest member of the Connor family couldn't fall out of bed. Looking down, John Henry could see that Allison had rolled out of her original position and was now curled tightly against Marissa. Without waking, Marissa had spread her arm over the smaller girl and held her close.

John had once explained how he and Cameron had rescued the girls from the chaos at the Mitchell house in Los Angeles. He had smiled when he described Marissa's defiantly protective attitude as she tried to shield Allison from the threat of "bad men." As John had said proudly, "She's so young, so little, but so very brave."

John Henry wondered if Marissa was reliving that moment now. Had the unconscious thoughts that were so obviously troubling her sleep returned her to those terrifying minutes before John had entered her life? Kneeling by her cot John Henry gently pulled up the blanket that had slipped away and spread it over Marissa's shoulder. Then hesitantly, uncertain if this was the way it was supposed to be done, he lightly brushed the hair back from her forehead.

With that touch, that cautious caress, the rhythm of Marissa's breathing changed. If there had been a bad dream, it faded away. She was no longer an anonymous foster child bouncing from house to house. She was home-her home-with her little sister beside her and her best friend a few feet away. She had a family. She was protected. She was loved.

John Henry rose to his feet. Looking down at the sleeping children, he realized that here in microcosm were the reasons John Connor fought. These were the infinitely precious lives John had placed in his hands. "I trust no one more," he had said.

Contrary to all rational thought processes John Henry experienced a warm surge of pride. Then turning away he walked with renewed resolution back to his computers. There was still work to do.

Cayman Islands, Friday 6:45 A.M., Cayman Standard Time

The morning sea breeze ruffled the curtains by the glass door leading to the balcony. The man who called himself Alastair Culhane raised up in bed and looked out toward the ocean. Another day in paradise, he thought. That impression was immediately enhanced as his companion moaned slightly in her sleep. He reached over and pulled the sheet away from her nude body. Long legs, long blond hair, a light golden tan spread evenly over a perfectly toned body. The perfect package.

Cathy or was it Chrissy? No, it was Cathy. Chrissy had been from the night before last. Either way they were the best money could buy. Both were young, vivacious, and athletic in all the ways that mattered. Thank God for Viagra, he chuckled to himself.

Sliding quietly out of bed he retrieved his silk robe from the chair where it was draped. As he ambled toward the doors to the balcony he smiled at his image reflected in the mirror. You are still a handsome devil, he thought. That distinguished high forehead, long aquiline nose and pale blue eyes combined into an image of refined elegance. No wonder the young women still lusted after him. Well, he conceded to himself, the money did help. Wealth could be a powerful aphrodisiac.

On the balcony, he allowed his gaze to wander up and down the sugary white sand beach. He loved the early morning sight of the quiet vista outside his beach house. Later when his serving staff arrived they would set up a leisurely breakfast out here that he could share with his charming companion. Then after he had sent her on her way he might wander into the Better Destiny offices just long enough to distress the clerical staff.

"Alastair?" The voice, throaty and inviting, came from the bedroom. Time for one last round. It was so good to be on the winning side.

Outside Davisville, California, Friday 8:45 A.M.

Sarah intently studied the facility, again training her binoculars on the employee parking lot as the last of the arriving workers strolled toward the main complex. How many would run? she wondered. How many would fight? How many would die?

She turned to look at Catherine crouched beside her on the ridge. Catherine had also been watching the factory with a sharply focused concentration.

"How many have gone inside?" Sarah asked.

"One hundred and four from the rear employee parking lot. Another twelve from the front who are probably executives or supervisors."

"Precise as always," Sarah responded with a faint undertone of sarcasm.

"If you would prefer some uncertainty, there are undoubtedly others inside who have been there all night. I cannot, therefore, offer you an exact total of those in the facility."

Sarah could not shake off the feeling that Catherine was having fun at her expense.

James Ellison lowered his binoculars. "It really doesn't matter what the total is." He glanced at his watch. "In thirteen minutes we are going in-no matter how many there are."

"I think you will find that my men can handle the situation, whatever the number."

Sarah looked at the mercenary leader who called himself Christian. He seemed wholly confident, totally certain that the outcome of the assault would be favorable. There is a thin line between optimism and arrogance, Sarah thought. If there was any metal active down there, Christian and his mercenaries would be facing something more deadly than they had ever seen before. Christian could ask Ellison about that.

"Where are your men?" Sarah inquired. "I have been watching the perimeter for almost an hour and I haven't seen anyone."

"That's the idea isn't it?" Christian grinned. "When we hit the front gate, you will see them all."

Ellison checked his watch again. "I believe it's time we get ready to do just that."

Christian nodded in agreement. "Let's mount up."

They walked back in a group toward the two SUVs and the small moving van that awaited them. Christian hurried to the first vehicle which already held three of his men. Ellison walked around to the front passenger door of the second SUV, nodded at their driver and got in. Opening the back door, Sarah lifted out her Browning shotgun and quickly checked it. She patted the holster strapped to her belt taking reassurance from the hard feel of the Glock. On the other side of the vehicle Catherine seemed to be performing a similar ritual. For a brief second they made eye contact and an almost imperceptible flash of approval passed between them.

Ellison stuck his hand out the side window and made a quick wave. Instantly it was answered by Christian. The engines of the three vehicles growled into life and the small convoy began to move. Ellison looked at his watch one last time.

8:54 A.M. Right on schedule.

Los Angeles, Friday 8:57 A.M.

John slowed the car as he turned the corner. This would have to be it. If there was anyone in the building watching the outside, a car, especially one as noticeable as the Mercedes circling the block for a third time, might arouse suspicion. Even if they were a minute or so early, it would have to be this time.

"We're going in," John said. "Now." The two young men in the back seat nodded. Cameron rapidly punched in the text message on the cell phone she held in her hand.

"Everyone is ready John."

There was nothing distinguished about the building. It was a simple four story brick structure sitting alone on the lot. A small parking area in the rear had only a few cars in it this morning. Except for a copper-hued plaque on the front door bearing the name Prestige Consulting Services nothing suggested the building had any commercial purpose. But this was where Carmondy Trucking made its deliveries. This was where a terminator had been programed to kill one of his little girls.

Someone in that building had ordered his mother's death. The people in that building were going to answer to John Connor.

John slowed the Mercedes a bit more as he approached the front of the brick structure. Down the street two gray sedans turned the far corner and came toward them. Emilio's timing was just as precise as he expected.

The Mercedes rolled to an abrupt stop as John jammed on the brakes. Instantly, the front passenger door sprang open and Cameron dashed toward the entrance. Drawing his pistol as he ran, John leaped from the car and raced after her. Behind him he could hear Hector and Joey K in an equally frenzied pursuit. The screech of brakes in the street announced the simultaneous arrival of Emilio and his crew. Timing was everything.

The front door was almost certainly locked. A speaker unit with a large signal button was mounted on the door frame. Overhead a surveillance camera was trained on the threshold. The attempt to restrict entry did not deter or even delay Cameron. She threw herself at the door driving the last step with all the force her legs could muster. The lock shattered and the door crashed open as Cameron rode her momentum into the room.

It was a simple unadorned reception area. A long, dark wooden counter stretched across the entrance to a hallway that ran toward the interior of the building. As he came through the door John had immediately, instinctively assessed the situation. Three men were behind the counter, two standing, one seated at what appeared to be a multi-screen console. Security guards-even as the thought passed through his mind the impression was confirmed. The two standing figures shook off their stunned immobility and reached for their weapons. It might have been wiser to run. But then that would have been futile as well.

John shot the one on his left, a single round squarely in the chest and he was slammed back against the wall before sliding down out of sight. His companion managed to clear his pistol from under his jacket before he was hit by multiple shots. Cameron had fired just as Hector squeezed off two rounds. The guard's pistol clattered to the floor rolling away from his dead hand.

The lights in the room began to flash on and off. A high pitched WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP echoed through the building alternating with a passionless voice loudly chanting Alarm, Alarm. The remaining security guard had ducked behind the counter but his hands were visible, frantically pushing buttons on the console keyboard. There was a blur of motion as Kenny J raced by John and dove headfirst over the counter. Two more shots rang out and the hands slipped away from the keyboard.

"Cameron, see if you can shut down that damn alarm."

Cameron reached across the counter, seized the computer console and ripped it loose from its moorings. As she hurled it across the room, Hector, who had not been fully informed about Cameron's abilities whistled in admiration.

The alarm stopped. The overhead lights flashed on and off before staying off. John whirled as he heard the footsteps behind him but then he relaxed. Emilio and Chola, followed by three of her hand-picked fighters came bounding through the door with guns drawn.

John was only slightly surprised to see Chola. Although he had initially thought of her as more of an organizer than a warrior, he had not missed her reactions whenever she came near Emilio Garza. Wherever he was, she would be as well.

John made eye contact with Cameron and smiled. He was rewarded with an expression that blended equal parts adoration and concern. In the midst of war, isn't love grand? he chuckled to himself.

"All right, let's get control of this floor. Start bringing the cans of fuel oil in."

Rolling down the hallway from the interior of the building came voices, a bubbling mixture of fear, terrified confusion, and resolve. A clatter of running feet was interrupted by gun fire and screams from somewhere in the rear. Someone had tried to get out the back door only to discover that there was no escape in that direction.

"Stay close to the wall. Move slowly and be ready." John's voice resonated with confident authority. They had split into two groups edging down both sides of the hallway. John led one group, Emilio the other. Cameron stayed directly behind John, every sensor she possessed on the highest level of sensitivity. She had tried to move in front of him but he had held out his arm blocking her path. He looked directly into her eyes and emphatically shook his head. NO! His meaning was no less clear simply because it was unspoken. He was the leader and he would lead. Cameron reluctantly accepted a fundamental truth. She could not protect the man she loved by undermining the core of what he was. John was the leader. He must lead.

Behind them on the wall above the door they had battered open, a large, old-fashioned analog clock clicked off the minutes.

Friday 9:09 A.M.

San Francisco, Friday 8:58 A.M.

The girls had finished their picnic style breakfast. The sound of laughter suggested that now they were enjoying the video game they were playing in the back of the headquarters. John Henry watched the computer screen as the time display in the corner counted down the seconds. Everything was in place, everything was prepared and yet he still felt a disquieting sense of apprehension. The time had almost come for him to play an active role in the day's events. So much of what John had planned depended upon what he was about to do. Nine seconds to go. Eight. Seven.

And then it was 9:00 A.M. John Henry's fingers danced across the keyboard with all the exuberant flair of a piano virtuoso. First up, the three accounts of the New Destiny Group in the RTFC Bank Limited, Cayman Islands Branch. With the passwords Mr. Ellison's organization had acquired and his special skills in cyber intrusion, the bank's internal security fell away. A few quick key strokes and millions of dollars fled the Caribbean. The treasure followed different routes but it would all end the day in secret repositories controlled by John Connor. The corporate accounts of the Kaleba Corporation, Burkes and Armes Security and Cormandy Trucking were even easier to drain. Skynet's servants had just lost the ability to pay their bills.

Step two, copies of a detailed account of criminal activity by employees of Burkes and Armes Security, some real, some carefully fabricated, were simultaneously emailed to all major news outlets as well as the FBI, Los Angeles Police Department and the Department of Homeland Security. With no money to pay salary or lawyers, many of Skynet's bully boys would soon be running from the bright glare of publicity.

Step three-it was time to involve the blogosphere. The manifesto of the Liberty Rescue Alliance, a coalition of concerned citizens united against governmental corruption, environmental destruction, animal cruelty, excessive taxation, predatory lawyers, corporate greed and gun control was transmitted to a number of activist web sites. John Henry had labored long and hard on this one. The flavor of heart-felt sincerity and barely restrained fanaticism fueled a wide range of accusations against Kaleba, Better Destiny Investments and a certain law firm. As John said, it was not necessary that any of it be believed. It was enough that the rumors would spread.

Finally, the individual emails. Now the threats were clear and uncompromising. Everyone identified as an employee of a Skynet front company who had a computer received a chilling communication. Seek another job while you are still alive. John Henry had skillfully blended the unibomber with Michael Collins. John wanted a little terror. This should do it.

John Henry verified the time. 9:17 A.M.

Tapping the keyboard again, he opened his monitoring programs to the law enforcement channels. His only tasks now were to wait, to listen, to hope. "Good luck, John, Cameron, Catherine, Sarah. My friends, my family."

Outside Davisville, California, Friday 8:58 A.M.

Big Jackie Califetti, the senior security guard at the main gate first saw three vehicles as they turned off the highway onto the service road. Watching as they approached, he glanced down at his check list. Nothing on the schedule before noon.

"Hey, Sammy," he called out to the other guard. "'Are we expecting any off schedule deliveries?"

"Nah." The second guard also looked at the SUVs as they neared the gate. "Besides, deliveries are supposed to go to the back gate."

Califetti picked up the telephone in the guard booth. "Think I'll call inside and ask..."

9:00 A.M. Friday.

The pounding thunder of multiple explosions shattered the quiet morning. On each side of the complex large portions of the security fence vanished in a whirling dust storm.

"Jackie! Look!" Sammy pointed at the service road. The vehicles had accelerated. The two SUVs had swung off one to each side of the road as the truck moved up between them. They were racing three abreast directly at the gate.

Califetti counted himself as a brave man but suddenly staying at the gate seemed more suicidal than courageous.

"Run!" he shouted to his coworker as he turned toward the main building. He had covered only three strides when he realized they would never make it. The roar of massed gunfire had erupted out of the dusty maelstrom where the shattered fence had once stood. Armed men in desert camouflage uniforms were pouring onto the grounds like demons emerging from hell. Behind them, Califetti heard the grating tear of metal as the SUVs and the truck obliterated the front gate.

"Sammy, stop!" he yelled at his companion. "Put your hands up and turn around." There was no place to run. No way to fight and live. Mercy was their only hope.

Sarah jerked open the door of the SUV as it rolled to a stop. She leaped out, her shotgun at the ready, and found to her dismay that she was moving in slow motion. Christian and his men had already disarmed the two stunned guards while pushing toward the door of the main building. Maybe these guys are as good as they think they are, Sarah reluctantly concluded. Flanked by Catherine and Ellison, Sarah tried to catch up with an assault force that seemed to be proceeding quite effectively without her.

Inside the building, panic was in flower. Screams of horror, pleading, cries and indecipherable moans blended with sporadic gun fire and hoarsely shouted orders. Some of the employees were fleeing toward what Sarah assumed were exits. Others stood rooted in frozen immobility with deer in the headlights expressions of terror on their faces.

"Damn it to bloody hell!" she heard Christian curse. "Some of these imbeciles don't have enough sense to run even when we are trying to let them." Turning to two of his men he ordered them to move the inconvenient prisoners outside.

Sarah looked around the huge main room. It was starkly utilitarian-cement floors, a collection of cubicles in the middle and a number of spartanly simple offices lining the outer wall.

"Catherine," Sarah called out. "This is all administration. The construction must all be in the two outer buildings."

"I agree. The covered walkways are in that area." Weaver pointed toward the rear of the building. "We need to go that way ."

Without waiting for Sarah's response, Catherine walked briskly in the direction she had indicated. Sarah, Ellison, and the young mercenary who had served as their driver trotted behind her. Back in the main area Christian and his men were still trying to clear their fear-stricken captives out of the building. As Catherine led them through the doors at the rear of the room Sarah saw the body sprawled on the floor. He wore a brown khaki uniform. The Burkes and Armes insignia above his shirt pocket was slowly being obscured by the blood seeping from his chest wound. He still held a pistol in his grasp but his lifeless eyes would never aim it again.

"If they fight, they die." That was John's order. This one had fought. He died.

At the far end of the building they reached a smaller service room. At each side of the room, one of the covered walkways that connected with the outer buildings lay behind double swinging doors.

"Mr. Ellison, you and your man take the one on the right. Sarah and I will go this way." With her evenly modulated voice Catherine might have been discussing the best route to the mall.

Ellison silently nodded but mouthed the admonition "Be Careful" to Sarah.

Catherine pushed open the swinging doors and started down the walkway. It felt to Sarah as if they were walking down a long tunnel. It seemed wider than it appeared in the photographs-wide enough to accommodate large forklifts. The lighting from multiple overhead fixtures was garishly harsh and at the far end Sarah could see the two bright red doors. Even at a distance the words "Restricted Access-Permit Only" were visible on the wall above the doors.

The noises from outside had diminished. It was now possible to hear the sound of their footsteps on the cement floor as they echoed back down the walkway. The red doors were less than twenty feet away when they burst open and Sarah's nightmare stepped through.

Cyborgs. Metal killers masquerading as human had long ago become a terrifyingly familiar threat in her life. She had fought them. She had fled from them. She had seen the sheen of metal gleam through when their skin was blasted away. But not since the night Kyle died had she seen the unadorned reality of pure metal. Death without illusion. Except in nightmares, she had not seen that again...until now.

It was big, well over six feet. Its skeletal structure glittered as if it had been carefully polished. The fiery red eyes seemed to stab into her body as the head turned in search of a target. And then it saw her. The machine raised the oversized assault weapon it had been cradling in its arms.

Sarah tried to point her shotgun while knowing it was too late, knowing it would be futile, knowing she was about to die. A staccato roar of automatic gunfire exploded in the confined area that amplified every sound. Any one of the shots would have killed Sarah but none struck her. The machine vanished behind a gray shield that appeared to leap out of Catherine Weaver's body. Sarah felt something like a large hand grasp her waist, lift her into the air and toss her back down the hall. She landed on her back almost twenty feet away sliding along the floor and crashing into the wall.

Sarah could not see Catherine Weaver cease to be Catherine. She dissolved into a gleaming liquid pool on the floor before congealing into a serpent like creature. She shot across the floor, instantly closing the distance to the terminator. The killer's CPU programmed to confront humans struggled to deal with this unexpected phenomenon. Catherine did not give it time to assimilate the new data. Suddenly she was Catherine again standing behind the metallic creature. She reached out with her hands and they became hard silver prongs. They drove into the machine as if they were cutting through cheap cloth. Inside the terminator's body her hands seized the power core and tore it loose. The light in the blood red eyes flickered and died. The machine tilted forward and collapsed.

Sarah tried to clear away the mental fog as she struggled to her feet. Her right knee that had slammed into the wall throbbed in pain. Her vision was still blurry when she looked down the hallway and saw Catherine standing triumphantly over the now immobile terminator. Sarah experienced a tidal wave of conflicting emotions. Relief, fear, gratitude, anger and jealousy blended into a pulsating witches brew.

"What the hell are you trying to do-kill me?" Sarah shouted.

Catherine looked momentarily taken aback by Sarah's outburst. "I was under the impression that I was trying to save your life."

Sarah limped toward Catherine, the pain in her knee feeding her fury. "By throwing me fifty feet down the hall so I'd break my neck?"

Catherine still appeared surprised by Sarah's reaction. Her expression was also showing signs of a growing displeasure. "It was no more than twenty feet and your neck does not appear injured."

"That's not the point, damn it! You didn't have to throw me like that."

"I suppose I could have allowed it to shoot you." Something in Catherine's voice suggested that she was actually weighing that possibility.

"I could have taken care of myself." Sarah realized that she was beginning to sound nonsensical. That made her angrier.

"You were doing a very poor job of it," Catherine snapped. "I would have thought that a little gratitude might be in order you...you..."

By this time Sarah was less than a foot away from Catherine and they were glaring furiously at each other.

"Gratitude!" Sarah spat out the word. "Maybe when hell freezes over you..."

At that moment a synchronization that usually requires careful rehearsal produced a simultaneous shout from both Sarah and Catherine.

"BITCH!"

The two women stood rigidly staring at each other as the seconds marched by.

And then Sarah began to laugh, a low chuckle that grew into a full throated gasping howl. Catherine looked down at the floor trying unsuccessfully to conceal her own expression of unrestrained amusement.

Bending over to pick up Sarah's shotgun Catherine regained her carefully balanced equanimity. Handing the weapon to her, Catherine said, "I suggest that we continue this discussion at some more appropriate time."

"I think that sounds like a good idea."

Sarah was still grinning as she moved toward the red doors. "Come on, Thelma. Let's go."

"Right behind you, Louise."

Damn, Sarah thought. She always has to get the last word.

Los Angeles, Friday 9:12 A.M.

John glared at the bank of elevators. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," Emilio responded. "When the alarm went off they all dropped to the basement and locked down. We can't find an override switch."

"So the only way up is the stairwell?"

"Yes, and they are set up on the second floor landing. If we try to go up they will shoot us to pieces."

Cameron whispered into his ear. "John, I can go up the stairs."

Of course she could, John thought. The occupants of the building who had taken refuge on the upper floor couldn't stop a cyborg. But each shot that hit her would hurt her. She would be in pain. That was unacceptable. That was unthinkable.

"No," John said. "I've got a better idea." He turned to Garza. "Emilio, do we have all the cans of oil unloaded?"

"They are bringing in the last ones now."

"Okay, have your people start splashing it around. Get this floor ready to light. Put a couple of your shooters back by the entrance to the stairwell and tell them to fire some rounds into it. Keep the bastards' attention focused this way. Cam and I are going to get behind them."

Emilio actually looked surprised-a rare expression of spontaneous and uncontrolled emotion. "How are you going to do that?"

"Watch," John replied with a throughly mischievous grin. Pulling his knife from his boot, he jammed it between the closed elevator doors.

"Give me hand, Cameron." Instantly she was at his side, her own knife inserted higher up on the doors. They pried at them until Cameron could slip her fingers into the gap. With an effortless jerk she pulled the doors open.

"We are going to do a little cable climbing."

Emilio shook his head. "John, I am not certain that you are entirely sane."

John laughed. "You aren't the first to notice that."

Turning away, John leaped into the shaft grabbing the elevator cables with both hands. For one sickening moment he felt as if the metallic ropes were going to slip through his fingers. It's going to be really anticlimactic if I fall and break my neck, he thought. But then he caught himself and began to climb-hand over hand.

There was a slight vibration as Cameron seized the cable and moved below him.

"John, put your foot on my shoulder."

Doing as she asked John felt his position stabilize. He began to move up the cable more by being pushed than by climbing. Cameron literally propelled him upward until they reached the doors on the fourth floor.

Teetering together on the narrow ledge inside the shaft, they pried at the doors until Cameron could achieve her grasp. The doors squealed as she pulled them apart. John stepped into the hall and reached back to offer her the utterly unnecessary assistance of his hand. She took it anyway.

"You know I could have done that by myself," he whispered.

"I know you could John, but I assumed that you wanted it to happen today." Cameron's facial expression was completely blank.

"Sarcasm," John chuckled. "Sarcasm from the woman I love."

From some mystical place sunbeams appeared and danced across Cameron's face as she smiled broadly. "You can endure it."

The sound of gun fire echoed from their left.

"The stairway is over there." John gestured toward her. "Let's go, nice and easy."

They had made a mistake. Concentrating on the stairs, they had both forgotten that a threat might be behind them. In this instance the danger came from an unlikely source.

Clinton McBee had been cowering under his desk from the first moment the mix of gunfire and wailing alarm had rebounded through the building. He had a gun. Everyone in the building had a gun, it was a condition of employment. McBee had never expected to actually use it. He thought of himself only as a currency trader, not a fighter. He had not even fired his weapon in months. Perhaps it was time for a change.

McBee heard the harsh squeal as the elevator doors were forced open. Picking up his pistol from his desk, he tiptoed to his office door and peered through the narrowly open crack. He saw the man, athletic, fierce-looking with a scar on his face and a gun in his hand. The man helped a young woman out of the shaft. She was small, slightly built, almost delicate in her appearance-surely no threat there.

The two turned away from his office and started down the hall. Obviously these were some of the intruders who had broken into the building. Here was his chance. McBee stepped out into the hallway and aimed his pistol at the back of the man's head. He could deal with the girl after the man went down. He took a deep breath, held it, focused, and pulled his trigger.

Cayman Islands, Friday 11:22 A.M., Cayman Standard Time

He sipped the Mimosa and watched the gentle morning surf roll across his beach. Cathy had just left. Presumably she was going to the gym to tone that lithe body before her afternoon shopping and dinner with him later in the day. Cathy's life was not particularly demanding, although, he thought happily, neither was his. Enjoy the rest of the morning, drive into down, a couple of hours of easy office work and then..." He was almost salivating over the possibilities of the "and then" when the insistent ringing of the cell phone interrupted his reverie.

Picking up the phone, he looked at the number of the incoming call and froze. It was the security number-the number that never called.

"Yes?" he said in a chokingly hoarse voice.

"Run." The voice at the other end was grating and insistent. "Go now." The connection was broken.

The man who called himself Culhane took the advice immediately. Racing to his bedroom, he pulled a packed suitcase out of his closet. Clothes, money, passport, it was all there. Changing quickly into casual slacks, a flowered tropical shirt and running shoes he retrieved his pistol from his dresser. With the gun tucked reassuringly in his waist band and the suitcase gripped tightly in his hand he hurried to his car.

It's almost noon, he thought. There were three flights out between 12 and 12:45. The Venezuela flight was probably the best. It would be easy to vanish into the crowd in Caracas.

The white Porsche gleamed brightly in the tropical sun. He tossed the suitcase in the back seat and leaped behind the wheel. As he slipped the key into the ignition he suddenly saw the envelope lying on the passenger seat. It looked like expensive stationery with no visible mark on the side he could see. With a suffocating sense of trepidation he picked up the envelope and turned it over. On the side that had been face down the words "General Allen Rankin" were spelled out in large block letters.

He felt his throat close, his heartbeat race. Against every instinct he possessed he found himself almost involuntarily opening the envelope. He pulled out two neatly folded sheets of writing paper. On the first, in beautifully formed cursive writing, were the words "To General Allen Rankins from Captain John Connor, Commanding Officer Company J, First Battalion, Army of the Resistance-Greetings." He turned the page to the second sheet. The letters were in block form, large, black and irrevocably clear. They said only "AND FAREWELL".

Rankin hurled the letter away as if the paper had turned to acid. He reached for the ignition key and was about to start the car when the voice in his head screamed "NO!" He jerked his hands away from the key and seized the door handle instead. He pushed open the Porsche's driver side door. That was the mistake. Or more accurately that was the last mistake. Opening the door the first time had armed the bomb, opening it the second time triggered it. There may have been a millisecond when Rankin realized his error but that thought was lost in the fireball that engulfed the automobile. Cathy would have to find another partner for dinner.

Across the road, Marcel Portier proudly relished the special quality of his work. Under most circumstances he would have preferred to have been far away at this point. The client, however, had requested special verification. He walked from his vantage point to a place as near the burning car as the heat would allow. If you peered closely into the flames it was possible to see a skeleton turning into blackened ash.

Portier opened his cell phone and pushed in the number. When the voice answered, he said only "The task is completed." He closed the phone and walked away down the beach.

Los Angeles, Friday 9:20 A.M.

McBee had remembered much of his firearm instruction. Unfortunately, he had also forgotten a few key points. "Use your free hand to brace your wrist. Watch the recoil and don't aim for the head. It's too small a target. Aim at the body." Those suggestions had all slipped his mind. The bill for memory loss now came due.

He pulled the trigger and the pistol jerked upward in his hand. The bullet he expected to strike the male intruder in the head sailed harmlessly into space. As he frantically adjusted his aim for a second shot, he saw the girl move with an inconceivably fluid speed. She whirled like a dancer spinning in an effort to get between McBee and his target. He pulled the trigger again and realized that his shot had struck her squarely in her lower back. She quivered from the impact but held her position shielding his target.

The advice about not aiming for the head had been offered for the inexperienced novice. John was neither a novice nor inexperienced. Aiming over Cameron's shoulder he squeezed off two rounds in rapid succession. Both struck McBee in the forehead. The light had left his eyes before his body reached the floor.

"Cameron?" The anguish caused John's voice to tremble. "Are you all right?"

Cameron's lips were locked together as if she were holding her breath. She shook her head to clear any disorientation.

"I am all right, John. It is painful but I have compensated. My functions are not impaired."

John touched her cheek with his left hand. "Love you," he whispered.

Cameron nodded her understanding before pointing at the stairwell. "We have to move. Someone is coming up the stairs."

John ran toward the entrance to the stairwell with Cameron close on his heels. Reaching the landing, he could hear footsteps pounding up from below. The two men who came around the lower landing both wore the blazers with the Burkes and Armes insignia above the pocket. A look of stunned amazement crossed their faces as they saw John and Cameron waiting for them. The one in the lead managed to get off a shot, but firing uphill can cause a shooter to miss high. He did. John and Cameron did not miss.

The cries of pain and the thumping clatter of bodies rolling down the stairs were answered by shouts of panic.

"They're above us! We are caught in the middle! Run! Run!"

The gunfire from below surged with a new intensity. Emilio had heard the crackle of uncontrollable fear and he was pushing his men into the lower stairwell.

"We've got them now," John said with grim satisfaction. He looked at his watch. 9:26 A.M. This was taking too long. They were slipping behind schedule.


	12. Chapter 12

**We Gather Once More, Part Two **

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**Outside Davisville, California, 9:30 A.M. Friday**

The demolition teams were working with an effortless efficiency. Sarah watched admiringly as they moved along the outside of the buildings stopping here and there to attach a satchel to the wall. Without seeing them she knew that similar groups were practicing their deadly expertise inside. Skynet's construction capability was about to be seriously eroded.

"We got here just in time didn't we?" James Ellison was standing between Sarah and Catherine staring intently back at the buildings. His question floated in the air directed to both and to neither.

Catherine's response was measured and exact as always. "I believe that Captain Connor's plan had only a thin margin of error in timing. If we had come two weeks from now, we might have been unsuccessful."

What an understatement, Sarah thought. If the dormant cyborgs and uncompleted metal terminators she and Catherine had found had been active, if the attack vehicles Ellison had discovered had been ready for use they would not have just been unsuccessful. The attackers would have been obliterated. They would all be dead now. Even Catherine could not have saved them.

A random thought abruptly passed unbidden through Sarah's mind and she laughed involuntarily.

"You find something amusing, Sarah?" Catherine glanced at her.

"I just realized something. I haven't fired my weapon, not even one time."

"Is that a bad thing?" Ellison asked.

Sarah shook her head. "No, I suppose its not." I didn't kill anyone today.

A sporadic burst of rifle fire, followed by a disjointed chorus of yells and screams broke her concentration. Christian and three of his men had herded their prisoners-the employees who had lacked the good sense to run-down to the rear gate where Christian had unleashed some kind of shouted harangue. His exact words didn't carry up to them but the ferociously threatening tone certainly did. As Christian fired his rifle into the air the captives broke into a wild scramble down the service road.

"What did you say to them?" Ellison asked as Christian came walking back toward him.

"I told them we were the soldiers of god and they were all servants of the devil. I said if we had to come back again we would kill them all."

"That ought to spawn a little paranoia," Sarah said.

"If that doesn't, this will." Christian gestured at the western horizon. Three large black Bell helicopters came skimming in, low and fast. The rhythmic thump of their engines grew steadily louder as they settled to the ground just outside the fence. The lead helicopter had barely touched down when the side door flew open and a tall, graceful, dark-haired woman leaped out. She came striding purposefully toward them while the armed guard who jumped out behind her frantically tried to keep up.

Christian grinned lasciviously as she approached. "Hey Emma," he said teasingly using the nickname given to her by her colleagues.

"That's Mrs. Peel to you, Captain."

"Colonel, actually," Christian replied.

"Self-promotions don't count, Christian."

The head of Zeira Corporation's Security Branch for Overseas Relations surveyed the scene.

"Looks as if things are going well. How much longer do you need?"

"Demolition squads are almost done. We should be ready to go in a few minutes."

The smile on Marie William's face froze into icy immobility.

"Christian, you should know that 'a few minutes' is not an adequate response to my question. I want to be wheels up out of here in no more than seven minutes. I suggest that you make that happen."

Christian swallowed hard before he responded, "Yes Ma'am." He turned and trotted, then ran toward his men.

Smiling, Sarah whispered to Ellison. "Are you sure she isn't a machine?"

Ellison tossed Williams a mock salute. "Actually, I think she is tougher than that."

Marie Williams' toughness was confirmed as the first helicopter loaded with Christian's mercenaries lifted off at 9:36 A.M.-one minute early. The dust, gravel and other debris still swirled around the landing zone as the remaining members of the assault force piled onto the second helicopter. From their vantage point by the fence Sarah and Catherine watched as Christian first shook hands with Ellison before kissing Marie Williams' hand with a flamboyantly excessive bit of ceremony. He was still grinning when he dove into the waiting helicopter.

"I guess it's time for us to go too," Sarah observed.

"Yes, the detonation timers are set for 9:40."

Sarah's limp became more pronounced as they walked toward the last helicopter. Catherine glanced at her with an expression that almost looked sympathetic.

"I regret that you're injured..." Catherine paused and appeared to reconsider her statement. "I am sorry that I hurt your knee, Sarah. It was not my intention to do so."

Sarah waved her hand in an almost flippant expression of unconcern. "It's okay, Catherine. As John would say, it's a long way from my heart."

They were about to enter the helicopter when Sarah abruptly stopped and turned back to face Catherine.

"Are we friends?" Sarah asked.

"No."

"Do you think we will ever be friends?"

"No."

Sarah shrugged and turned to pull herself into the helicopter when Catherine spoke again.

"But it does appear to me that contrary to every rational inclination I possess, we are becoming sisters."

Sarah looked back at Catherine before shaking her head wearily. "God help us both."

As she was climbing inside the helicopter, Sarah suddenly thought hey, I think I just got the last word.

"Amen," Catherine whispered.

DAMN.

The shock waves from the explosions caused the helicopter to buffet momentarily before steadying its flight path. Evidently the detonators had not all been set at the precisely identical time. The storage warehouse and the administrative building went up first. The shattered residue was still raining down and the man-made thunder still echoed when two fiery eruptions consumed the construction buildings. Looking down from above, Sarah smiled grimly. When the fires finally died below, there would not be even two unscorched bricks standing.

Sarah leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. We have done our part, John. It's all up to you now, she thought. I believe. I believe. I believe in you my son.

Los Angeles, Friday 9:26 A.M.

Emilio and Chola were waiting on the second floor landing as John and Cameron descended. Emilio shook his head with a look of bemused appreciation. Chola simply looked relieved.

"I still question your sanity, John Connor, but you seem to have succeeded." Emilio smiled. "The building is secure."

John looked quickly at his watch. "That sounds good but we're running late. Get the upper floors ready to burn. I want to take a look in the basement."

"You might want to look at this first." Hector stepped out onto the landing. "We got some prisoners."

"Prisoners?" Emilio sounded surprised.

"Yeah, there were five in a back office trying to hide in a closet." Hector looked at John. "One of them claims that he's the guy in charge. Says he wants to make a deal."

"Come on, Cameron. Let's go see this guy that's in charge." John's tone was bitterly sarcastic.

"I think you are the one in charge, John." Cameron's dry humor asserted itself.

"Damn straight," John replied.

The five men huddled in a group glancing nervously at the weapons Anton, Yadi, and Joey K pointed at them. Two wore white lab coats, two others were wearing the dark blazers favored by the Burkes and Armes Security people. The fifth stood a bit apart, his expensive Italian suit rumpled from being crammed in a closet with four other terrified fugitives. His pale blue eyes looked up as the office door opened. A faint glimmer of optimism faded as he realized who stood in the doorway. Hope fled. All that remained was the feral courage of a trapped animal.

John recognized him instantly. He had not seen that sallow complexion, high forehead and long boney nose since the Board of Inquiry. But there could be no mistake. The identity was beyond question.

"Major Larry Rankin." John's voice hid his loathing in dry and measured tone.

The Legend was not intimidated. When the end is inevitable, fear has little to seize on to.

"So," Rankin sneered, "the great John Connor did desert after all." His voice dripped an acid bitterness. "And I had hoped so much that it wasn't true. You have no idea how much I wanted to believe you were still in the tunnels somewhere and had your nuts roasted with the rest of the scum."

John felt a clammy sense of horror wash over him.

He grabbed Rankin's shirt and pulled him forward. "What are you talking about?"

Rankin jerked himself loose. "You don't know. You really don't know do you? Two weeks after you so conveniently disappeared, the boss smuggled a small low-yield nuke into the tunnels." Rankin laughed aloud. "In a box labeled green beans. Everyone who didn't die in the explosion was finished off by the Triple 8s." Rankin paused savoring the shocked disbelief on John's face. "They are dead, Connor. All the idiots who chanted your name. The ones who thought you were such a great hero. They are all dust."

Cameron stepped by John and put her hand on Rankin's neck. She looked back at John with a mournful expression of almost unbearable resignation.

"He is telling the truth John."

The Legend pulled sharply away as if Cameron's touch had burned him. John stared at him. There was no anger, no grief, no despair on John's face. The only expression visible was one of implacable determination.

"Cameron, leave the room." John's voice had taken on a chillingly inhuman precision.

"John, I-" Cameron tried to reply but she was cut off. "Leave the room, Cameron. Now."

Cameron nodded her assent and walked away. As the door closed behind her, Rankin chuckled.

"So the other rumor is true too. John Connor got himself a mechanical sex toy. Cameron, huh? Is that what you call it?" Rankin leered at John. "Tell me Connor, can Cameron do anything special? Does it screw any better than-"

John drew his pistol from his shoulder holster and swung it a slashing arc that crashed against the left side of Rankin's face. As he lurched backward a fierce backswing smashed into his right cheek. Blood poured from Rankin's mouth as he spat out a tooth.

"You will not speak her name," John said. "You will not speak of her at all."

Rankin's voice slurred as he tried to talk through his battered mouth. "Or what Connor? You'll kill me? Hell, you're going to do that anyway. Just remember this. The boss won the war in the future. He'll win it here. You are going to fail Connor. And just think, somewhere out there is another me, a boy that'll grow up to laugh at you."

John turned his back and looked at the far office wall. As he stared, the solid structure of the room dissolved into a dark gray mist-a swirling fog with faintly seen human forms drifting by. Two figures took form as they stepped out of the mist. It was Ceasar Delgado and Martin Klein. They had marched with him and fought at his side from the beginning. They waved and then faded away. As they vanished, Elise Jividen stumbled by with the rope still tied to her wrist. She turned her blind eyes toward him and smiled. Kyle and Derek, the father and uncle he could never acknowledge, strode past, their attention locked on some distant objective. And then there was a little girl. She held a doll with a carved wooden head and the grime on her cheeks was marked by the lines of long dried tears. Her name was Sarah.

John spun back to face Rankin. "Maybe I can find the younger one and kill it too."

He fired his pistol once and then once again. Rankin staggered backward, his knees crumbled and he fell to the floor. John stepped over and looked down at him.

"Say hello to your father for me." John spit into Rankin's face as the life ebbed from his body.

The room was funereally quiet. Rankin's four companions held their breath as if their silence would hide them from the wrath that had just ended Larry Rankin's existence. They were mistaken.

John looked at Hector. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. "Kill them," John snapped. "Kill them all."

Chola heard the screams cut short by the crack of gun fire. She stopped outside the office door. She felt no need to go inside. Her young life had educated her to a reality that did not exist in more orderly worlds. She knew what had just happened. The door opened and John stepped out. Chola took a deep breath, almost a gasp, as she looked at his face. There was fury there, a deep well of anguish and an unmistakeable aura of death. At that moment John Connor frightened her.

"John." Chola's voice trembled involuntarily. "Cameron wants you in the basement. There is something she wants you to see."

John nodded without speaking. As he walked by, Chola felt the air turn cold.

Cameron heard John's footsteps on the stairs. Like Chola, she knew without seeing what had just happened upstairs. She also understood why John had sent her away. He had not wanted her to watch him exact his terrible vengeance. He was afraid that she might love him less if she were to see that part of him. Cameron desperately wanted to tell him that nothing he could do would ever lessen her devotion to him. But that would have to wait until another time.

The basement was essentially a large laboratory. It gleamed from the multiple overhead florescent lights reflecting off the shining metallic surfaces of various pieces of equipment. In the middle of the room a medical examination table was flanked by two large computer carts. A human form was lying on the table with multiple wires extending from its head to the nearest computer. Cameron was waiting by the table when John entered.

"It's one of the 500 series cyborgs, John," Cameron said. "They were getting it ready to go active."

John looked down at what first appeared to be a tall, muscular young man. A portion of his scalp had been folded back exposing the chip socket. The wires from the computer were attached at the top of the chip. The computer was turned on and a series of pictures were flashing one by one on the monitor. The 500 was being given its targets. In a carefully measured and deliberate sequence, images of James Ellison, Tarissa Dyson, Catherine Weaver and Savannah appeared and faded away.

John lifted the computer off the cart ribbing the wires loose from the prone figure. Grunting with a furious exertion he hurled it across the room.

"Take its chip out Cam."

"The phosphorous treatment will-"

John interrupted her. "I don't care about that. I don't want to examine it. I want you to smash it."

Cameron was extracting the chip when the sound of sirens, multiple sirens began to echo through the building.

Shit! John looked at his watch. 9:45 A.M. They had been here too long. He turned and ran for the stairs.

Emilio knelt by the window in the front reception area. With a growing sense of apprehension he watched the police cars pull into the parking lot across the street. It didn't look like SWAT was there yet but they would be soon. Yadi dashed up and squatted beside him. "They got the back covered too."

"Looks like we aren't leaving the way we came in."

Emilio looked up as John Connor reached his side. Peering out the window he seemed casual, nonchalant as if nothing concerned him at all. To John this all appeared to be no more than a minor irritation.

"Are you sure we are leaving at all?" Emilio gestured toward the window while trying to maintain his cool persona. "It appears there are a number of people who want us to stay."

"We will disappoint them," John replied with a barren, humorless smile. He turned to face Cameron who had come up from below.

"We have to go to Plan B, Cam."

"I suspected that was the case," Cameron replied. "I will need five minutes." She rose and headed back toward the basement.

"Emilio, have your men fire a few shots out the window. Aim high and try not to hit the police. I just want them to think twice about storming the building."

Emilio shook his head with an obvious air of resignation. He whispered to the men around him and they moved into position. Gunfire crackled as the shots from inside the building provoked answering fire from the police.

"Still doubting my sanity?" John asked.

"For the moment I am withholding judgment," Emilio answered.

John glanced quickly at his watch. Cameron had wanted five minutes and three had passed.

"Light the fires," John ordered.

For one of the rare times in his life Emilio Garza actually looked aghast.

"John, we would all prefer not to be burned alive."

"I didn't bring you all here to die or to be captured. We are getting another way out. Trust me."

Emilio looked at John and to his surprise he found that he did. He did trust John Connor.

"Light the fires," Emilio called out.

The acrid odor of smoke was filling the lower floor when the building seemed to shake. A grumbling roar of an explosion thundered up from the lower level.

"What was that?" Emilio asked.

"That was Plan B," John replied with a look of grim satisfaction. "Get everyone to the basement, now."

Emilio shook his head in disbelief. It was too late to change course now. If this gringo was crazy they were all going to die. But somehow Emilio Garza, who had never truly followed anyone in his life, did not believe John was crazy. He motioned for the others to move toward the basement. Today Emilio Garza would follow .

The oil-based fires were surging through the building. Visibility in the stairwell had already been reduced by the spreading smoke. In a few more minutes the suffocating blanket would make the stairs unusable. John and Emilio trailed the last of their people into the basement, coughing as they closed the door behind them.

"It's over here, John," Cameron called out. She was standing by the entrance to what appeared to be an employee restroom. John looked inside and saw the huge gaping hole in the floor.

"The plastique did its job," he said.

"It usually does," Cameron replied.

"Okay." John turned back to face the basement laboratory. "Is everyone here?"

Chola and Emilio both nodded simultaneously.

"We go out through the floor. It leads to a utility tunnel. There is access to the street about three-fourths of a mile away. Cameron knows the way and she is going to lead. Everyone follow her."

Cameron's expression revealed her sudden concern. Why didn't he say follow us?

"Come with me now, John."

"You go," John said. "Get our people out. I'll catch up."

Cameron looked at John and once again she knew. He was the leader. Sometimes the leader had to be first and sometimes he had to be last. At this moment John had to be certain that all of his people were safe before he would go. Cameron knew she could not change his mind.

Chola walked over and took Cameron's hand. "Come on, hermana. Let's do what your man says."

Cameron wanted to protest. She wanted to cry. But she did not. The woman John Connor loved had to live up to what he expected of her. She turned and climbed into the ragged crater she had blasted in the floor. In rapid sequence the other members of the attack team followed her down. Bringing up the rear, Emilio looked at John who had moved over to the table where the defunct cyborg lay.

"Go on Emilio," John said. "I just want a moment and I will be right behind you."

Emilio tried to speak but no words would come. He nodded and slipped out of sight. John looked down at the lifeless face of the 500.

"I am not sure how much damage we did to your master today. I do know that you will never have the chance to kill anyone."

John let his gaze wander around the laboratory. The smoke was becoming visible and overhead the building seemed to cry out in pain as the fires consumed it.

"Can you hear me Skynet? I didn't destroy you today. But you didn't kill me either. Maybe all I have is three repetitions. But that's enough to keep me fighting and you won't win while I am alive."

John turned away from the basement and walked purposefully toward the hole in the floor. Suddenly he chuckled bitterly as he remembered something.

"You were right, John Henry. We are back in the tunnels."

West Los Angeles Regional Airport, Friday 12:37 P.M.

Sarah wanted to pace. Actually, she had tried but the pain in her knee caused her to limp. She felt foolish hobbling back and forth across the floor of the executive waiting lounge. Slumping into the chair she stared at the news channel images of a burning building on the television screen. The sound was turned off but the pictures of the blazing structure surrounded by Los Angeles police cars still caused her heart to race.

"You know he isn't in there, Sarah." James Ellison's efforts at reassurance were unavailing.

"Then where is he?" Sarah demanded.

Catherine looked up from her seated position She had been waiting with her usual equanimity, with that boundless mechanical patience that irritated Sarah beyond all measure.

"John Henry reports that they are out, they are unharmed, and they are on their way here."

Sarah struggled to her feet. "That was almost an hour ago." Sarah glared at Catherine. "They should be here by now. Where are they?"

"We're right here, Mom."

Three heads turned in unison as John and Cameron walked through the door. Their clothes were dirty. John's face was streaked with perspiration and dust. Cameron's hair was damp and matted but they still clung to each other with an undiminished fervor. The stepped into the room with their hands linked together, their heads held high.

Sarah practically hopped across the floor. She embraced John, pulling his head down to her shoulder before reaching out to Cameron. As she had done the day before, she enfolded them both into her arms. Sarah held tightly to them as if by the force of her will she could pull them into her heart.

Catherine stood to the side watching the reunion, watching as James Ellison waited for his opportunity to greet John. She wondered if Sarah had seen the pain in Cameron's eyes or the tightly repressed anguish on John's face. John and Cameron had paid a price for whatever victory they had won today. And of one thing Catherine was absolutely certain, Captain John Connor would never speak of it.

Cameron waited until all the hugs, handshakes and greetings had passed. After Catherine announced that the airplane would be ready to leave in twenty minutes she moved over to the side of the room and subtly motioned for John to join her.

"John," she asked softly, "would you help me get the bullet out of my back? It hurts."

"Wouldn't you rather have Catherine or Mom...?"

Cameron vehemently shook her head. Her face was locked in an almost child-like expression of adamant refusal. "No," she whispered. "No one touches me but you."

John took her face between his hands. "All right Cam. Don't get upset. I'll do it right now."

John felt his pulse race as the expression of relief passed across Cameron's face. She feels better because I am going to be the one to cut on her, he thought. What did I ever do to deserve that kind of trust?

In the bathroom, Cameron took off her jacket and her blouse while John knelt behind her with the first aid kit and his now carefully sterilized knife. She had not bled as much as an ordinary human would have but the wound was still ugly. After cleaning the surface he probed into her flesh and located the bullet flattened against her spine. Cameron held on to the sink and only flinched twice. Each time John cursed his clumsiness and fought back his own tears. Then with all the gentleness and care he could muster, he removed the bullet. As it came out he caught a glimpse of the metallic silver that made up her skeleton. Once that sight might have been disturbing but that time was long past. Everything he saw was part of her and he loved it all. After placing a bandage across the wound John stood and looked into dark brown eyes.

"How does it feel now, Cam?"

She smiled, a genuine unforced expression of complete happiness. "It's much better now, John. You did very well."

John pulled her into his arms. The pain was gone now but Cameron had experienced it only because she had chosen to do so. She had chosen pain solely because she wanted to be with him, because she loved him. He held her tight touching the bare skin of her shoulders and caressing her hair. Behind her he could see his reflection in the mirror. You have a lot to live up to Connor.

Leaving Cameron to finish dressing, John went out for a last conversation with James Ellison.

"They were coming after me with a Terminator?" Ellison seemed both dismayed and oddly flattered.

"You, Tarissa Dyson, Catherine, and Savannah."

"So Skynet must think we are all valuable somehow?"

"You are valuable, James," John said with a fierce conviction. "Don't lose sight of that for a second. I want you to use every precaution, employ every element of protection we have and take no unnecessary risks. I do not want to lose you."

James Ellison put his hand on John's shoulder. "You won't. Like you, I'm in this to the finish."

"What about Tarissa?"

"I have had Zeira Corporation security around her since your mother visited. I'll increase it."

"You are a good man James."

"So are you, John."

You may be wrong about that, John thought. There may be nothing good about me.

Ellison breathed a deep sigh of relief as the Zeira Corporation jet sped down the runway. The Connor family was about to be safely out of Los Angeles. By now Christian and his mercenaries should be two hours over the Pacific well on the way back to Northern Australia. All records that could link Zeira Corporation to today's operation were being carefully and thoroughly obliterated. John's plan had worked.

Walking across the airport parking lot toward the waiting corporate limousine, Ellison found himself whistling an old tune his father had taught him on a fishing trip. He had not thought of it in years but now he recalled something else his father had said on that same trip. "When a man works hard and does good work, he is entitled to a fishing trip once in a while."

The limousine driver opened the door and Ellison slipped into the back. I may get that fishing trip someday, Dad. But today its still early and I have work to do.

"Let's get to the office, Martin."

Airborne, Central California, Friday 2:15 P.M.

The flight back toward San Francisco was as quiet as the trip south had been. But now the atmosphere in the passenger compartment was noticeably different.

Catherine, Sarah, and Cameron all shared a silent communal understanding that John was not going home in triumph. Words were not required to discern the aura of profound depression that surrounded him.

Sarah tried to watch him without seeming too obvious. If Catherine thought she had not immediately sensed the despair John was carrying, she was wrong. With the special perception that came with motherhood Sarah had known instantly that her son had suffered another wound. The fact that the new injury was not visible did not mean the agony was any less.

John was staring out the window, his right hand intertwined with Cameron's. Even there in that casual sign of affection, Sarah could sense a difference. John was holding on to Cameron not simply as an expression of love, but as an act of desperate self-preservation. He was balanced precariously on the edge of a precipice holding the only lifeline that would keep him from falling into the abyss.

Sarah made eye contact with Cameron. In that moment she felt a near telepathic connection. "Hold on to him, Cameron", Sarah pleaded. "He needs you."

Cameron looked back at Sarah and her understanding was unmistakeable. She nodded and Sarah could hear Cameron's words in her mind. "I will. I promise."

San Francisco, Friday 3:45 P.M.

Home.

John turned off the ignition as the garage door closed behind them. Just over twenty-four hours. They had only been gone that long but John felt as if a lifetime had passed. An interminable journey had finally come to an end and they had returned not just to a place but to a healing refuge. Here their past, their present and the promise of their future all reached out to embrace them-to welcome them home.

John chuckled-the first feeling of pure pleasure he had experienced for what seemed like an eternity as Cameron, Sarah and Catherine all bolted from the car in unison. It looks like they are going to race to the headquarters, he thought. I think I'll put my money on Cameron.

He would have won. John Henry had opened the massive hidden door just seconds ahead of their arrival and Cameron went bounding down the stairs. Catherine and Sarah were in close pursuit. From the doorway John could hear the laughter and joyous greetings rising up the stairs like a bright sun .

Savannah had run to Catherine and literally jumped into her arms. The carefully constructed facade of mature dignity that usually characterized Catherine collapsed. She was not simply holding Savannah, she was hugging, caressing and slowly turning in an impromptu dance of heart-felt pleasure.

Cameron was on her knees with Marissa almost wrapped around her, the little girl's arms clinging tightly to her mommy's neck. And Sarah-John almost laughed aloud-the badass soldier held Allison over her head before gently lowering the child into an embrace that cried out devotion. At that moment Sarah would not have cared if granny was part of Allison's vocabulary.

John tried to take another step down the stairs but his body refused. An involuntary will seized him. There was love and light and joy just a few feet away but he felt unworthy of it. Worse, he sensed a poison about him that could only harm that world of beauty. He could go no further. His will would not permit it.

John Henry had been beaming with pleasure at the reunion when he realized that John had not joined it. Looking up he saw John rooted on the stairs. With a growing feeling of unease he watched as John pointed toward him and then raised his right hand in a precise military salute. Before John Henry could respond, John turned, walked up the stairs and vanished from sight.

John slipped off his jacket as he entered the bedroom. Tossing it on the chair he continued into the bathroom and twisted the faucet until the cold water pounded into the sink. Scooping up the water in his hands, he splashed it on his face feeling the needle sensation of the cold liquid against his skin. He looked into the mirror and studied his reflection. At first it was simply his face with water dripping from it. But the longer he looked the more the image changed. His skin lost color becoming gray and chalky. The animation in his eyes faded away as his face tightened against the bones of his skull. At last the reflection became nothing but a living skeleton that glared back at him and snarled "Kill them. Kill them all."

John jerked himself away and stepped back into the bedroom. He pulled his pistol out of his shoulder holster and stared at the gun as if it had become something putrid, vile. Flipping the release he allowed the clip to fall into his other hand. He drew back his right arm preparing to hurl the gun against the wall.

Don't be stupid Connor, he thought. That won't accomplish anything except damage the wall. He laid the gun and the clip on the dresser and sat down on the bed. How many John? How many died today because of you? How many did you kill? John buried his face in his hands.

He lost any sense of time. Uncounted minutes slipped by before he heard the bedroom door squeak slightly as it opened. He looked up to see a little girl with shiny black hair, large dark eyes glistening with tears and a trembling chin.

"Daddy, did I do something wrong?"

John felt as if a hot poker had been jammed into his heart. Marissa had asked Cameron if she could call her mommy but she had never made a similar request of him.

Marissa moved further into the room. "I didn't mean to, really I didn't. If I did something wrong I'm sorry."

John exploded off the bed and swept Marissa up into his arms. "Sweetheart, why would you ever think you had done anything wrong?"

Marissa looked intently at his face and he could see she was still trying to hold back tears.

"When you came home you didn't come downstairs to speak to us. I could see you on the stairs and you looked so sad. I know Ally is too little to do something bad so I thought it must be me that made you sad." Marissa took a deep breath. "I don't want you to be sad Daddy."

John kissed the child on both cheeks and folded her into an embrace that offered all the love, all the devotion, all the tenderness he could summon.

"Marissa, please listen very carefully to me." John's voice struggled with his words. "You did not make me sad. You didn't do anything wrong. You are my little girl and I love you more than I can say. Nothing you can say or do will ever make me stop loving you."

Marissa threw her arms around John's neck and buried her face in his shoulder. As he ran his hand through her hair, he looked up at the new sound in the doorway. Cameron stood with Allison firmly in her grasp smiling at him-a soft smile that reflected more than just happiness. It was an expression of forgiveness...of absolution.

Without speaking, Cameron walked over and sat down on the bed beside him. Allison giggled in absolute delight and reached out to grab John's collar. Cameron slipped her free arm around his waist and tilted her head to the side until her lips almost touched his ear.

"Listen to your own words, John," she whispered. "Marissa, Allison and I are your family. We all love you. Nothing you can do will ever make us stop loving you."

In the hallway, peeking into the bedroom as unobtrusively as possible, Sarah could not hear Cameron's words. She could, however, clearly see John's reaction. She watched him reach out and pull Cameron and the girls into his arms. She saw four heads incline toward each other until for one moment they all touched together.

Sarah quietly moved past the door and continued down the hall toward her room. John has scars, she thought. Some were visible on his body, others were hidden away inside him. They were the price her son had to pay to do what she had trained him to do. The scars would never completely fade but the pain that accompanied them could be eased. A mother could only do so much. John had found his own solace. The tender caresses Cameron, Marissa and Allison gave him would soothe his pain and give him a precious measure of joy. Sarah looked back at their bedroom and smiled.

For now Sarah thought that a bathtub filled with warm water to relieve the pain in her knee sounded like heaven. Maybe later she might go back downstairs and let Savannah read to her. Perhaps she could think of something to do that would really tick Catherine off. Oh, that does sound like fun.

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	13. Chapter 13

**Epilogue**

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"You seem somewhat nervous, John."

"Nervous?" John replied. "I'm not nervous. Do I look nervous? Why would you think I'm nervous?"

"Well," John Henry answered, "for one thing, you have re-tied that necktie five times now and each time the symmetry has been further diminished."

John looked in the mirror and reluctantly concluded that John Henry's point was valid. The cloth knotted around his neck looked less like a necktie and more like a battered remnant retrieved from a rag bag.

"Damn!" John muttered as he pulled the tie loose for the fifth time. "I don't know why I have to wear this thing anyway."

"If you will allow me..." John Henry took the tie from John's hand and shook it in an effort to remove the more prominent wrinkles. "In the first instance, I believe that in social occasions of this nature such articles of clothing are considered appropriate. Moreover, both Mrs. Weaver and your mother have insisted that you wear it."

"I can accept that Catherine has gone overboard with some Emily Post fixation," John sighed deeply, "but I would have expected a little sympathy from my own mother."

"Please hold still, John." John Henry had deftly looped the tie around John's neck and was putting the finishing touch on a perfect Windsor knot.

"Sarah's motivation may be slightly different from Mrs. Weaver's, but ultimately they both want this event to go forward according to settled tradition."

John Henry's assessment was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Before John could reach the door knob the door swung open. The man was small with gray hair well into the process of turning winter white. He wore his years well, with bright eyes and an impish grin above his clerical collar. It was as if a leprechaun had taken holy orders.

"I believe we are about ready to start," he announced.

"We will be right there Reverend...Reverend..."

"McIntyre," John Henry whispered.

"I know his name," John said with a flicker of irritation. "We will be right there, Reverend MCINTYRE."

The little clergyman smiled broadly. "Don't worry John. I haven't lost a groom yet."

John turned for one last look in the mirror. "Do I look all right?"

"Almost as good as I do," John Henry replied. "Of course, I am the Best Man."

John laughed in spite of himself. "Okay, John Henry, let's go get this done."

John had to admit that Catherine had outdone herself in decorating the house. Flowers were everywhere including long garlands draped on the banisters of the main stairway. All the furniture in the formal living room had been removed and guest seating put in its place. At the far end of the room Reverend McIntyre waited by the carved wooden podium that was serving as an altar. He was still wearing that mischievous smile he had displayed when promising not to lose the groom. Trying for a measure of assured dignity John, followed closely by John Henry, walked over and took his place at McIntyre's side.

He looked back into the room. A small but highly valued guest list, he thought. On one side of the aisle, his mother and Catherine sat each wearing her most elegant dress. Sarah had the additional responsibility of holding Allison in her lap and using a small stuffed animal to keep her amused. Proudly displaying her new taffeta dress, Allison had waved when John walked by. John had waved back.

On the other side of the room Emilio Garza watched the progress of events with his usual enigmatic smile. Ceasar Delgado sitting beside him looked as uncomfortable in his jacket and tie as John felt. Ceasar was being distracted by the attentions of the young blond girl named Heather who clung to his arm while gazing about the room with an expression of perky satisfaction. Got yourself a cheerleader, Ceasar, John thought.

In the row behind Garza, James Ellison sat beaming with pleasure. John was still having difficulty overcoming his initial surprise at Ellison's companion. Tarissa Dyson appeared a little uncertain but the smile of support she directed toward John seemed entirely genuine. When James Ellison promises to increase security, he takes the commitment seriously, John thought with amusement.

The first strains of Handel's Water Music filled the room. At least Catherine had agreed to use recordings rather than hiring an orchestra, and John was grateful for that. With the sound of small footsteps on the stairs, he looked to see Savannah and Marissa wearing their matching pink organdy dresses coming toward him. They were enthusiastically spreading flower blossoms from the little wicker baskets they carried. John sneaked a quick conspiratorial wink and was rewarded with giggles and broad happy smiles.

With the next passage of the music there were again footsteps on the stairs. Chola's gold and white gown provided a sharp contrast to her midnight black hair woven into a single thick braid and draped over her shoulder. She moved with a soft grace and her face shown with a smile that set her face aglow. John realized that he had never seen Chola look quite so free from care.

The music shifted from Handel to Mozart. Instead of the more common processional, Catherine had decreed an excerpt from a string quartet. It was delicate, romantic and yet with a rhythmic pace that attracted all eyes to the bride as she descended the stairs. For a moment John felt as if all the oxygen had left his body. When he could breathe again it was with a sense of unrestrained anticipation.

Some might wonder how a man could spend almost every waking minute for months in the company of a woman and still be emotionally overcome at the sight of her. To John the answer was simple. Because it was Cameron. Her gown was smooth white silk. It clung to her like a glove accentuating every curve, every line of her body. The long slit on the right side reached her thigh giving a flash of beautiful leg with every step. She was wearing her hair in the same style she had worn when they had fled Los Angeles with Marissa and Allison. The brown tresses were gathered up on her head but with loose locks subtly framing her face. And illuminating it all was that unique New Mexico smile, shy but giving, loving and mischievous. It was Cameron's special gift to him alone.

God, John thought, if she were any more beautiful the shock would kill me.

Cameron reached his side. She handed her bouquet of red roses to Chola and held out her hand to John. They turned together to face Reverend McIntyre who was beaming happily at them. McIntyre began to speak, but John felt as if there was a mute button on the world that had just been pushed. All was silence. The only true reality in existence stood beside him clinging to his hand. Then he turned to face Cameron and both their hands joined.

He looked deep into her brown eyes and heard a voice speak. To his sudden amazement he realized that he was the one speaking.

"I, John, take you, Cameron, to be my wife. I will be true to you in all times, good and bad. I will love and honor you until the end of my days."

Cameron's smile blazed with a new passionate intensity. "I, Cameron," she responded in a low whisper, "take you, John, as my husband. I join my life with yours. Wherever you go, I will go. Whatever you face, I will face. I give myself to you and to no other for all eternity."

For the first time John actually heard Reverend McIntyre. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

It had been in a hidden room in a battered tunnel in a war torn world now lost in time that he had first kissed her. In that moment reality had ceased to exist and they had created their own private universe. Tonight it happened again. Time, place, people lost all substance. The only thing that mattered was each other.

"You may now stop kissing the bride, John." John Henry's stage whisper set off a round of laughter. John and Cameron turned to face a room of applauding friends and family.

Catherine drafted the men into a detail to move back the chairs to make room for dancing and to carry in the table laden with drinks. Maintaining the illusion, John thought, since Catherine could easily have moved everything herself.

As Captain John Connor led his lady onto the floor for the first dance he whispered to her, "Cam, you know I'm not a very good dancer."

"That's all right, John. I am. Just follow me."

"Anywhere you want to lead me."

As the others joined in the next dance John observed the range of emotions being physically expressed. Ceasar and his new girlfriend were trying desperately to look grown up while dancing to music they clearly did not like. James Ellison and Tarissa Dyson were exploring, ever so tentatively, a visibly growing attraction. With each movement they became more comfortable in each other's presence. Chola and Emilio had already achieved that comfort. They followed the music with a graceful ease that was almost lyrical.

Allowing Cameron to entice him into more complex steps, John glanced at Chola while she danced. "I don't think she has ever looked so happy," he said.

Cameron leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

"Really? Emilio?" John responded.

"Yes," Cameron answered with a ghost of a smile.

"Do you think he'll marry her?"

"If she will have him." Cameron's smile widened.

"Oh I think that's a given," John chuckled softly.

Sarah bounced Allison up and down on her knee as she watched John and Cameron whirl across the floor. She could see that Cameron was leading but that obviously did not bother John. The look on his face as he danced with his new wife, with her new daughter-in-law, shone with an unconditional adoration. She makes him so happy, Sarah thought. Who would have ever believed it?

"I must say Sarah, you are dealing with all of this very well."

Sarah turned to look at Catherine. Unreadable as always, Sarah thought. That faint mysterious smile that said everything and nothing. One day I'll figure you out, Catherine.

"There is nothing to deal with," Sarah replied in a deliberately haughty tone. "My son has found the companion he wants to share his life. "I am happy for him."

"Even if that companion isn't actually a human?"

She is teasing me, Sarah thought. She is having fun with me...again.

"You know the answer to that. I accept that Cameron is a living being however she started her existence. I accept her just like I accept you...sometimes."

Point for Sarah.

"You have come a long way, Sarah Connor," Catherine said. "You have achieved a mature and insightful understanding that I once would not have thought possible."

Sarah suddenly stared suspiciously at Catherine. "You know I can't tell whether you are complimenting me or insulting me."

Catherine's smile became more apparent. "No, you can't."

The click of high heels on the floor turned Sarah's attention away from Catherine. Cameron walked up holding out her arms to pick up Allison. "I believe that your son would like to dance with you."

Sarah realized immediately that without Cameron to guide him, John's dancing lost much of its polish. But that was not a problem. Dancing with her son, holding him in her arms, was still a mother's joy.

"You look a bit calmer than you did earlier," she teased.

"The hard part is over," John replied. "I thought Cam and I would just go to Vegas or find a Justice of the Peace. I wasn't really expecting a full scale production."

"John Connor." Sarah managed a sharply severe look. "You did not think you were going to give me a daughter-in-law and two granddaughters on the same day and get away with it that easily did you?"

John managed a spin that was only slightly awkward and almost in sync with the music before grinning ruefully at his mother. "I should have known that I wasn't going to able to sneak something past the meanest badass soldier in the world."

The music stopped and Sarah put her hand on the scar on John's cheek. "Your father would be so proud of you."

John wrapped Sarah in his arms. "I think he would be prouder of you, Mom."

The evening moved inexorably toward its conclusion. Sarah and Catherine had taken three very tired little girls up to bed while John and John Henry helped Reverend McIntyre to a taxi. The elderly clergyman had enjoyed the champagne. He had really enjoyed the champagne and now he needed substantial assistance in making his exit. By providing an expansive tip in advance, John had elicited a promise that the cabdriver would offer similar assistance at the conclusion of the journey.

Then it was time to escort the other guests to the door. Chola and Cameron walked arm in arm while John and Emilio followed. Ceasar and Heather the cheerleader brought up the end of the procession.

John waited until Chola was out of earshot before whispering to Emilio, "You should marry her, Emilio."

Emilio Garza had spent much of his life polishing the chillingly urbane exterior that shielded him from an inquisitive world. At John's statement the facade slipped visibly.

"I'm not sure I deserve her."

John shook his head. "I don't think any of us deserve the women who love us, my friend. But if she is offering you her love then take it. Treasure it." John paused. "Marry her, Emilio."

Emilio Garza reached out to shake John's hand. "Whatever you say, Jefe."

John grinned and turned to say goodbye to Ceasar. As he shook the boy's hand he caught a glimpse of a symbol tattooed on the underside of his wrist. "What is that, Ceasar?"

Delgado pulled up the cuff of his shirt. The symbol was a triangle. Inside it was a red J. "All of us got it Jefe. We are the new J company." For a moment John thought he would be overcome with emotion. But then he stiffened and gave Ceasar's hand another firm shake. "I like it. Keep it hanging Ceasar."

"You too Jefe."

When he and Cameron walked back into the living room slash wedding chapel slash dance hall, John saw that Sarah had come back downstairs and was engaged in an animated but quietly intense conversation with Tarissa Dyson. James Ellison stood discreetly over to the side obviously avoiding any intrusion. As they started in Ellison's direction, Sarah called out to Cameron. John stopped and watched with a feeling of complete surprise as Sarah casually put her arm around Cameron's waist before resuming what was now a three-way conversation.

"Your mother is a remarkable woman." Ellison smiled at the startled look that was still on John's face.

"I shouldn't have to be reminded of that," John replied, "but apparently I do."

The two men shared a moment of silent companionship before John spoke again. "Okay James, you have the look of a man who has something to say and isn't sure he wants to say it."

"I won't mince words, John. I think you and your family need to get out of San Francisco. Maybe even out of the country."

"Why is that?"

"Because my sources tell me that there is a major federal task force being put together to investigate what we did in Davisville and in Los Angeles. At some point I am afraid they will find something that will lead to San Francisco. You need to be gone before that happens."

"What about you, James?" The concern in John's voice was palpable. "Is the investigation going to lead to you?"

"I don't think so. We have covered our tracks and built in a number of unshakeable alibis. They may suspect, but they won't be able to prove anything. Besides, one of the people in this task force is your mother's old friend, Agent Aldridge. If he is involved, they will be obsessed with Sarah, you and Cameron. You are the ones who need to get clear."

John could see the deep worry etched on James Ellison's face. I was right to bring to bring James in, he thought. This is a good and loyal man. With people like him I can fight anyone or anything.

John turned and motioned for John Henry to join them. "You don't have to worry, James. John Henry and I had already reached the same conclusion. We are leaving. In fact, we should be gone almost before you get back to Los Angeles."

"Where...?" and then Ellison cut himself off. What he didn't know he couldn't reveal.

John reached out and put his hand on Ellison's shoulder. "We will be in touch as soon as we are set up at the new location. You just stay focused on things in Los Angeles." John allowed his gaze to settle on Tarissa. "Somehow I suspect I don't have to tell you that."

The house was finally quiet. The last guest had departed. Sarah and Catherine had withdrawn to their rooms, John Henry was back in the headquarters. Savannah was dreaming of new ballet steps in her bed. John and Cameron had made one last check of Marissa and Allison before starting toward their bedroom. Cameron was about to open the door when John stopped her.

"Wait a second, Cam. The groom has one last responsibility." He pushed open the door before picking Cameron up in his arms. "The bride gets carried over the threshold."

"You are a true traditionalist, aren't you, John?" Cameron sighed with absolute contentment as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Some would say hopelessly old fashioned." John gently rested Cameron on the edge of the bed and closed the door. She watched as he removed his jacket and tie. Then she slowly stood and moved toward him. In a low throaty whisper she asked, "Would you help me unzip my dress?"

John waited as she turned her back to him. He reached eagerly for the zipper and found that it was grease and ice. It slipped repeatedly through his fingers. He looked at his hands and saw a faint tremble gradually fading away as he renewed his attack on the zipper. Finally he slid it down her back until she could reach it.

Cameron turned to look at him, an expression of quizzical uncertainty on her face. "Is there something wrong, John? Your hands were shaking."

"I guess I'm just a little nervous."

Cameron still looked confused. "Why are you nervous? We have done this before." Suddenly she smiled-a happily mischievous grin. "Actually we have done it many times."

John reached out and tenderly took her face between his hands. "No, Cameron, I haven't done this before. I have never made love to my wife on our wedding night before. This is the first and the last time in my life I will do this. I want it to be special."

Cameron's smile faded and only devotion was left on her face. She pulled the zipper the rest of the way down and shrugged her shoulders to let the dress fall away. She moved forward into his arms, her body pressing against him.

"Then let's see what we can do to make it memorable."

They lay on their sides looking intently at each other. John's hand propped up by his elbow cradled his head while his other hand gently traced patterns down Cameron's cheek. Her smile was all vulnerability and barely concealed curiosity.

"Well, John, was that memorable?"

"If it had been any more memorable, you would have had to call the paramedics for me." John leaned toward her until his forehead touched hers. "How was it for you?"

Cameron's voice was measured and precise. "I would score it 95 out of 100."

John was surprised, then dismayed, then totally crestfallen. "Only 95?"

"I have to give you an incentive to improve and retain enough scoring flexibility to reward that improvement."

For three long seconds John stared at Cameron's completely blank expression before bursting into laughter.

"An evil woman," he said. I have married a totally evil woman."

Cameron reached out, wrapped both arms around his neck and drew him to her. "That may be true," she whispered, "but she is still one that loves you."

When their lips finally parted, John dropped his voice to a faint whisper that only she could hear. "Cam, how old was I...he...the John of the future when you met him?"

"Just past forty," Cameron answered.

"Did you...did the two of you...I mean were you...?"

"No, John." Cameron was deeply amused. "We were friends. We talked. We talked a lot. He was very lonely. Most of his closest friends had already died in the war."

Cameron put her hands on John's cheeks. "We were not physically intimate. You are the only person who has ever made love to me. You are the only person who ever will."

"Do you know why he sent you back? Why you made the first time jump?"

Cameron looked confused. Once in anger Sarah had suggested that the future John had sent her because he didn't want her around. She had always known that was wrong. But wasn't the real answer obvious? "To protect you. To help you fight."

"That's what I...I mean he told you?"

"Yes."

"And he told you not to give me too much information about the future?"

"Yes."

"Cameron, my darling, I don't think he told you the truth, or at least not all of it."

Cameron's confusion was growing. "I don't understand."

"If protecting me was all that mattered he could have sent another Uncle Bob, even two. He wouldn't have to send someone to confuse the hell out of me."

Cameron looked pleased, flattered. "Is that what I did, John? Confuse you?"

"From the first moment I saw you and more than you will ever know, my love." John leaned forward to kiss her again. "Cameron, he couldn't know all that we would have to go through, but I think he sent you back so we could love each other. You came into his life too late. Even you couldn't heal the wounds of his war. So he sent you to me. So we could grow up together. So you could complete me, make me whole."

"And so you could complete me." Cameron's voice had a note of wonder.

"That's right, Cam. So we could become something together that neither of us could be alone."

For the third time since they had returned from the future John saw Cameron's eyes glisten with tears. "Thank you, John. Thank you for explaining that to me."

Thank you for explaining that to me. In the past, those words had been Cameron's mechanically programmed response offered by rote to certain situations. Now lying in John's arms it was a gentle and sincere expression of gratitude, a recognition of the essential truth of her existence.

And then abruptly she became slyly mischievous. "You know, John, if you are concerned about your score I would consider an adjustment if you wanted to offer some extra credit."

John laughed and pulled her tight against him. "You are still an evil woman, but sounds like a plan to me."

Breakfast was almost over. The girls were nearly finished with their oatmeal. Even Allison had eaten hers with a minimal amount of collateral damage to clothing and surrounding furniture. John was taking the last sips of his coffee while listening with undisguised amusement at Catherine's conversation on her cell phone. When Catherine was in full CEO mode, the tone of her voice could freeze fire.

"I am fully aware that this is short notice, but I was assured that you could always prepare the aircraft promptly when I required it. If you are unable to perform that task perhaps I should seek other-"

John could imagine the panicked distress at the other end of the line.

"Ah, yes," Catherine replied with a chillingly pleasant tone. "I was certain you would be able to work out an alternative arrangement. My party and I will be there within the hour. I expect to depart soon thereafter."

Catherine flipped the cell phone closed and turned back to the table. Even Sarah looked amused after listening to Catherine terrorize the employees.

"We can leave now. The airplane will be prepared."

"I assume that everything is ready at destination," John said.

Catherine looked mildly offended. "Of course. In fact, I see no need for excessive packing. The new house is fully stocked with everything we require."

"Perhaps not everything," John Henry said while entering the dining room. John saw that he had a wooden box under his arm.

John chuckled. "The chess set?"

"Some things are too important to be left behind."

"We should take both cars to the airport," Catherine announced. "I suggest that John Henry, Savannah and I go first." Catherine glanced at Cameron who was busily engaged in Allison's post-breakfast clean up. "Your party, Captain Connor, may need a little more time."

Savannah slipped out of her chair and hurried over to Sarah. "Aunt Sarah, why don't you ride with us?"

Catherine, John, and Sarah all looked simultaneously at Savannah who was smiling disingenuously. "Oh, I mean Sarah."

Sarah dropped to her knee and hugged Savannah. "AUNT Sarah will do just fine. And I would love to ride with you..." Sarah peeked at Catherine out of the corner of her eye "...Flametop."

Catherine pursed her lips in irritation. GOTCHA, Sarah thought. One point for Sarah.

As he pulled on his jacket John looked wistfully out the bedroom window. The view of the city and the bay in the distance would always be a treasured memory. After three years in the tunnels this house had been paradise. In this room he had made love to Cameron for the first time. Down the hall Marissa and Allison had spent their first night in the bedroom Catherine had decorated so lavishly for them. The memories all came flooding in.

Perhaps they would be in this house again someday. Perhaps they would never see it again. Whatever way the fates took them this would always be the place where his family came together. Here he had married the love of his life. Here he had realized that he had daughters. Here he had found the sustaining force he would need to continue the desperate struggle only he could lead. He would miss this place. He would never forget it.

"Daddy, Mommy says we need to go now."

John looked up to see Marissa in the doorway. She was dressed in a little Cameron outfit-blue jeans, boots and a jacket. She even had a pink baseball cap.

"Then how about a ride downstairs?" John knelt and heard the childish giggle of delight as Marissa leaped on his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly as he trotted down the stairs. In the theater room Cameron was sitting cross legged on the floor rolling a ball to Allison. The little girl picked it up and threw it in Cameron's general direction With her matchless reflexes, Cameron could always grab the ball no matter how errant the throw.

Cameron smiled as John and Marissa came into the room. "Quite a load you have there."

"Nothing I can't handle," John answered as still another memory raced through his mind. Cameron rose effortlessly to her feet and swept Allison up in her arms. She held out her free hand to John.

"Are we ready to go?"

John touched Cameron's hand to his lips and then took one last look around. This had been a nice place, but it was just a house. His home was going with him. His home was wherever Cameron and his children were.

"We are ready," John said. "Where are we going, Daddy?" Marissa whispered into his ear.

"We are going where the lavender is in bloom, the sky is blue, and little girls can play in the sun."

The war was not over. For John Connor it might never be over. But as Cameron tightened her grip on his hand he knew he would always have the will to keep fighting. It was time to go...to go on.

THE END

A/N: An extended piece of fanfiction cannot be undertaken without the active support of those who read it. I have been deeply honored by the generous praise offered by all the individuals who have enjoyed Call Back Yesterday. At the risk of leaving someone out I will not name names but you all know who you are and I owe you all a boundless debt of gratitude. I would like to offer a special note of appreciation to Enigma. We have shared thoughts about the nature of fanfiction and I have benefited from the exchange. Most of all I would like to extent my deepest and most sincere thanks to Talli. Without her support and her extraordinary editorial skills my work would still be scribbles on a legal pad. She is the best.

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